


The first shieldmaiden

by FrlBarth



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-02-19
Updated: 2018-05-31
Packaged: 2018-09-25 14:11:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 16
Words: 153,561
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9824021
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrlBarth/pseuds/FrlBarth
Summary: Éomer is torn between love and loyalty, when decorum and the war of the ring rip him and the first shieldmaiden of Rohan apart. And where will fortune take Lisswyn on her journey of honour, duty and heartbreak?





	1. Wide open spaces

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever and I am not a native speaker, please, keep that in mind before grilling me.
> 
> I follow Tolkien timeline most of the time, with some scenes explicitly taken from the Jackson movies but I also chose to alter some things for the purpose of this story, which most of you will undoubtedly discover.
> 
> Please note that following Tolkien's version of the story means for instance: Théodred is thirteen years older than Éomer, so he is 40 at the beginning of this story, while Éomer is 27. It also means that Éomer is not banished from Edoras and that there will be no elves coming to the rescue of Helm's Deep...
> 
> I have done my upmost to ensure my OC has character and is not a Mary Sue. If you find you don't like my OC, please say why, and not just shout out Mary-Sue!
> 
> This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that maybe upsetting or offensive to readers.
> 
> Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, the lovely Polly. I would not have made it this far without you! Thank you so much JJ for being my sounding board in the final stages of writing and answering all my silly questions!

I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.  
This is my first fanfiction ever and I am not a native speaker, please, keep that in mind before grilling me.

  
I follow Tolkien timeline most of the time, with some scenes explicitly taken from the Jackson movies but I also chose to alter some things for the purpose of this story, which most of you will undoubtedly discover.  
Please note that following Tolkien's version of the story means for instance: Théodred is thirteen years older than Éomer, so he is 40 at the beginning of this story, while Éomer is 27. It also means that Éomer is not banished from Edoras and that there will be no elves coming to the rescue of Helm's Deep...

  
I have done my upmost to ensure my OC has character and is not a Mary Sue. If you find you don't like my OC, please say why, and not just shout out Mary-Sue!

  
This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that maybe upsetting or offensive to readers.  
Thank you so much to my wonderful beta, the lovely Polly. I would not have made it this far without you! Thank you so much JJ for being my sounding board in the final stages of writing and answering all my silly questions!  
  
  
**! WARNING: Mention of sexual violence in this chapter - nothing explicit!**

* * *

 

**Wide open spaces**

_„A young girl's dreams no longer hollow_  
_It takes the shape of a place out west_  
_But what it holds for her,  
she hasn't yet guessed" (Dixie Chicks)_

* * *

 "Lisswyn, you must not do this…" the young princess of Rohan pleads, holding her best friend's left hand with both of her own in a desperate attempt to stop her from moving.

"Yes, Éowyn, I must," the addressed woman replies. Her hazel eyes focus on her friend's face with a determined glare.

"I am not safe here anymore, as you know, and I did not swear an oath eight years ago to protect my king, his heir and his lands with my shield, my sword and my life only to break it now," the first shieldmaiden of Rohan answers shaking her head lightly. "If my king, under Wormtongue's manipulation, does not wish shieldmaiden protection any longer, I will oblige. But I will stay true to my word to protect lord and land. That is why I must leave. I will protect Théodred-"

"But we can still protect Théoden from Gríma if we stay here," Éowyn pleads again.

"Éowyn," Lisswyn sighs as her patience starts to fade.

She has had this conversation with Éowyn before, twice at least. And nothing her friend will say now can change her mind.

"We were given a choice to either lay down our weapons and shields, and resign to be only mothers, wives, and servants or leave with the other riders who did not swear allegiance to Gríma and were therefore banished from Edoras."

Lately, there had been ten shieldmaidens altogether. Six of them including Éowyn decided to stay. All of them have officially resigned from their duties, but secretly Éowyn will still watch out for her uncle's wellbeing as best as will be possible given the circumstances. Two shieldmaidens, sisters, have decided to return to their family at Aldburg. The older is now serving as a mere kitchen-maid, whereas her younger sister, Dargífu, is protecting prince Éomer, the Third Marshal of the Riddermark and second in line to the throne of Rohan. The remaining two shieldmaidens, Wilrun and Merelis, have already travelled to Helm's Deep to stay there with the king's son, Théodred. They have been assigned to protect the crown prince, and Lisswyn will join them now. The banished are going to ride to the Hornburg, to guard the Riddermark against the growing threats from the north and the west.

"But…" Éowyn starts in a new attempt to persuade her friend but is interrupted quickly.

"No, Éowyn," Lisswyn regards the young princess with a warm smile.

She does understand. Éowyn has chosen to remain, but being the younger of the two and always having looked up to Lisswyn, she's looking for the approval and confidence from an elder sister.

Lisswyn holds her hands against her with great affection. "I am glad you will stay behind, Éowyn. Then at least one trustworthy person will remain at the Meduseld. But I will join Théodred and his men at the Hornburg." With these words and a firm squeeze to Éowyn's hands Lisswyn signals that the conversation is over.

Gently, she pulls her hand from Éowyn's weakened grip, checks the adjustments of her sword at her left side and her shield on her back, and takes up her saddlebags. Only a small part of her belongings fitted into them but it is all she really needs. Éowyn will keep her other belongings safe at Edoras until she returns. Her most important belongings Lisswyn is wearing now: her battle garments containing dark brown soft leather breeches with a matching dark brown linen tunic underneath the leather armour made of hard, thick dark brown and red leather with golden inlays and chain mail sleeves and thick dark brown leather riding boots that reach up to her knees.

Looking back up, Lisswyn's eyes meet those of her best friend and she smiles although feeling torn up having to leave the young princess. "We will be around and guard you from a distance," she says with a gentle voice before she turns around and steps outside of the room she has been living in for the past five years in the guards' barracks behind the king's hall.

Leaving the princess and Théoden behind is hard ut she is leaving with Aldor, second captain of Edoras, and his éored to join Théodred and Erkenbrand and their men at the Hornburg. This is the only way she will stay true to her oath.

When Lisswyn steps outside of the barracks with Éowyn at her heels, the warm summer breeze brushes through her long strawberry blond hair. She has put it back in a long three-strand braid that ends in the middle of her back way past her shoulder blades. Taking a deep breath she takes in the land around her. The plains of Rohan shine in dark green and bright golden colours of late summer. Harvest time has started and most women and men who do not serve as riders are out on the fields.

A couple of hundred feet away in front of the great stables a group of 120 men on horseback has gathered – Aldor's whole éored; the banished.

With long strides Lisswyn descends the stairs leading from the Meduseld down the hill. Her horse Daeroch has been readied for her already. Quickly, she straps her packed bags to his saddle and with an acknowledging nod to the stable boy who holds Daeroch's reins, she takes her stallion and mounts him swiftly. She rides up to Aldor's side.

The captain speaks to his first lieutenant, "We are heading west quickly. It is a full day's ride to Helm's Deep. We will make a break at one of the creeks, but I wish to arrive before sunset." The lieutenant acknowledges the order with a sharp nod of his head before he rides back into the last line of the men.

From the corner of her eyes, Lisswyn sees Éowyn linger a few feet away. Aldor seems to have noticed her as well and turns towards the princess with a reassuring smile. Éowyn does not smile back. Tears have welled up in her eyes and her mouth is shut tightly to a thin line. Seeing her friend like this makes Lisswyn's heart ache. Fighting off the urge to dismount and embrace her, she forces a smile on her face, trying to ease her friend's misery.

There are no words left to say to make their parting any easier.

"On Éorlingas," Aldor's voice sounds in the late summer's air and he urges his stallion forward to a swift canter. Lisswyn and the other 119 men follow closely.

Once the éored passes the great gates of Edoras, Aldor drives his stallion to a light gallop and his men follow his lead. Sad and relieved at the same time, Lisswyn turns her head to look at Edoras, the city on the hill and the golden hall on top of it, for the last time in only the Valar know exactly how long. For the first time in weeks Lisswyn feels free again. She inhales the warm summer air deeply, the scents of ripened grain, freshly cut hay, and the road's dust; the scents of her childhood and youth.

Free at last, she thinks with a sigh. Free from the heavy tension that dominates Rohan's capital these days ever since Gríma became the king's closest advisor; the only advisor he listens to.

The last weeks at the king's halls have been sickening. Every step, every word guarded because Gríma's eyes and ears have seemed to be everywhere. He also watched _them_. She had seen his eyes trailing after Éowyn, unblinking, full of lust. But when the princess was not around, which was more often than not since Éowyn began avoiding Gríma, his attention turned to Lisswyn. Wormtounge's looks have never been gentle or approving only appetent. The thought of his hands, touching, grabbing, disgusted her.

Thank Béma, Wormtounge is such a coward he never tried to approach her or even touch her. Not like…

A cold shiver runs down her spine as an old sickening memory threatens to surface again. A memory of fear, pain and humiliation. It had taken all her strength and the help of a gentle soul to leave behind what had happened to her in her second year of shieldmaiden training. A soul she soon learned she could confide in anytime she needed it.

Lisswyn blinks hard twice to keep the tears that well up in her eyes from streaming down her cheeks. She does not know whether they have come due to the old painful memories or from the warm summer breeze hitting her face in full gallop. But she surely does not wish to know exactly why either.

Men sending her approving and interested looks is nothing to be worried about, she tells herself again as she has done many times in the past. It is normal. Men and women are meant to be attracted to each other, to mate, to find love. And one day she will find someone to love her, to cherish her body with gentleness and passion…

'One day, but not now,' Lisswyn tells herself. Now she is a shieldmaiden, a trained warrior, and it is all she ever wanted to be ever since she saw the king and his shieldmaidens for the very first time at the horse fair in Edoras when she was nine.

Feeling the horse's movements underneath her, she concentrates on her riding in jumping seat along with the rolling motion from Daeroch's back.

~ S ~

After twenty minutes in a low gallop to the west, Edoras disappears behind the outmost foothills of the White Mountains. This is when Aldor slows his men and their horses down to a slow canter and eventually to walking pace. Lisswyn can hear the men behind her murmur in low conversations, but Aldor to her right remains silent. There is nothing to discuss between them and the shieldmaiden enjoys the opportunity to stay quiet.

After a while the captain at her side chuckles fondly. Surprised, she turns her head to look at him.

He has the average size of a good six feet and the lean but muscular stature of an Éorlinga but still sticks out among his men due to his hair. It is a dark brown with some strands of grey in it and not the usual blond or light brown. His long sharp face is softened with a stubble and his leathery olive skin tells of years out on the training grounds or plains as a rider in any kind of weather.

"After all those years, the open plains are still the place you are most comfortable," Aldor says with a smile on his face. He had been her fighting master, her teacher, a trusted father figure during her training at Edoras and ever since.

"Does this surprise you?"

"No, not really. You are a horse breeder's daughter, after all. I still recall you crying a lot in your first year at Edoras."

"I was homesick. I missed my family and felt caged living in a wooden house instead of a yurt. I need wide open spaces to breath."

"A lot of times you were crying out of anger, too," Aldor reminds her. "You were such a fierce, easily angered, and stubborn tomboy when you started your training. Just like the horses your father breeds out there on the plains of the Wold. If you were not able to manage a new routine at first attempt you got furious, yelling and crying, hitting and tossing things," he recalls, lifting his left arm and pulling his chain mail sleeve and tunic back to reveal a scar on his lower arm. "Marked me for life with that blade you threw at me, when you couldn't hit the targets with enough force for the blade to stick in," he states dryly.

"You will never let me forget, will you?" Lisswyn asks half smiling and half distressed if this incident really would stand between them forever.

"I forgave you long ago, Lisswyn. But to remind you every once in a while does not hurt," he smirks and then continues, "Back then I was convinced you would never make it, to be allowed to speak the oath. Although you had everything needed to become a shieldmaiden: the physical capability, the determination, wit. You were just unable to remain calm in situations where it was absolutely necessary." Aldor shakes his head and sighs in reminiscence.

"Well, you made me realize that the hard way."

"I had to rip you out of training for you to understand; you were your greatest enemy."

"And I am still thankful for that."

"No need for that, little tomboy," Aldor says with mirth, shaking his head. "You made me the proudest master ever when you were made shieldmaiden. When was it, six years ago?"

"Eight."

"Only to be appointed first shieldmaiden three years later. The youngest who ever had the honour to hold this title."

"I guess I owe that to you?" Lisswyn asks with gratitude.

"No. There were others speaking for you when this decision had to be made. To me you are still too trustful, gentle and dependent on other's judgement, Lisswyn. You may be the best shieldmaiden in decades when it comes to protecting someone, but you are not the best of leaders."

"I am sorry to still disappoint you, Aldor."

"You are looking for my goodwill again."

"But is that not what a relationship between a teacher and his trainee should be like?"

"You are no longer my trainee, Lisswyn. Respect is what you should be aiming for."

"So, I do not have your respect?"

"You doubt too much."

He looks at her gently and they fall back into silence – but this time it is not a comfortable one.

~ S ~

Aldor raises his voice again after three hours of trotting along the northern foothills of the White Mountains in the Westfold calling his men to stop for their break. Up front runs a little stream down the mountain slope giving the Éorlingas and their horses the chance to quench their thirst.

Lisswyn has taken off her riding boots to sit at the riverside with her bare feet hanging in the crisp fresh mountain water to cool down. It is extremely hot out on the plains today, not even the soft breeze so typical for late summer helps. Closing her eyes, the shieldmaiden lies back down to listen to the soft humming of bees, beetles and flies that cherish the late blossoms of the meadow around her.

The warning shouts of the guards on watch pull her out of her peaceful snoozing. Quickly, Lisswyn gets up and watches a group of riders in the distance approaching the éored.

"It's the Aldburg banner, my lord," one of the guards shouts back to an alarmed looking Aldor.

Wondering what Éomer's men are doing west of Edoras, Lisswyn puts on her boots again and walks over to stand next to Aldor. It is a full éored Lisswyn realizes with surprise and wonders whom Éomer might have sent. The riders coming towards them slow down to a canter and finally the shieldmaiden recognizes the Third Marshal of the Riddermark. "It's Éomer," she tells Aldor who recognizes the young prince the same moment she does.

The prince dismounts his horse and hurriedly comes up to meet Aldor. "Greetings captain. You are heading to Helm's Deep?" he questions sharply.

Aldor acknowledges the Marshal with a sharp incline of his head.

"Yes, my lord. We are banished from Edoras by order of the king because we did not pledge allegiance to Gríma," Aldor states with pride and his chin raised at the Marshal who is more than half a head taller than the captain. "We will join Théodred prince at the Hornburg. Our loyalty lies with the Riddermark and the crown prince now."

"Very well," Éomer murmurs as if calculating something in his head. "Who stayed with the king?"

"Háma and Gamling, my lord. But they will follow Gríma's orders only if they are for the good of the Riddermark. They are Théodred's men in disguise."

"Good," Éomer answers with a nod and with a slight smile on his lips adds, "So, Wormtounge's scheme finally hits you, too. We will join you on your ride to Helm's Deep. I have some alarming reports for Théodred."

"We just stopped for a rest about a quarter of an hour ago. By your leave, Marshal, we will stay here for another thirty minutes before we continue," Aldor suggest the prince. "You and your men must be tired as well. It is at least a whole day's ride from Aldburg to Edoras."

"It is our second day today," Éomer replies.

"Then your men will need the rest, too," Aldor says and receives a consenting nod.

"Aldor, it is good, to have you at Théodred's side."

It is only after their short exchange that Éomer turns towards Lisswyn, signalling for her to follow him to the side. "So you decided to follow Théodred as well?"

"Greetings to you, too, Éomer," she answers politely after a short incline of her head. "And yes, I am going to the Hornburg to join Théodred."

"And Éowyn?" he refrains from acknowledging her greeting. His voice sounds strained.

"She decided to stay behind to be at the king's side."

"Will she cope with the situation?"

"She is fine, but frightened. She is the last of the shieldmaidens at the Meduseld, in disguise, of course, and Gríma lingers around the king all the time."

"Is she in danger?" his concern is now unmistakable.

When Lisswyn hesitates with her answer, the prince's gaze on her hardens and his voice grows demanding. "What is it?"

"Gríma. His gaze lingers too long upon her."

Éomer's eyes widen in shocked realization. "Will he…?"

"No, he is a coward," Lisswyn answers, shaking her head slightly, before he can ask.

The mere thought of what he suggests makes her feel sick. But then, when Gríma's attention fully turns to Éowyn now that she has left Edoras, he might grow bolder. For the princess does not radiate as much self-assurance as she herself does. Lisswyn shivers slightly at the thought of him approaching her friend.

"Éowyn is a shieldmaiden after all. She will know how to protect herself even without any weapons at her side," she states with more conviction to calm her friend's brother than she actually feels.

"I would be more reassured if you were still at her side," Éomer replies, his eyes showing that he is not convinced by her statement either. "Why did you leave the Meduseld? You will be held in dishonour."

"I swore an oath, Éomer, just as you did when you became a rider. I am not willing to break it," Lisswyn argues back. "And as hard as this may sound, it is not my duty to protect the princess. My duty lies with the heir of the Riddermark."

"Your duty is to protect the king," he growls back.

Lisswyn inhales deeply and opens her mouth to reply when Aldor steps in.

"Éomer," he calls the Marshal with a warning tone to his voice. "Lisswyn does not have to explain herself to you. She is only answerable to Théodred now. And he surely will not hold her in dishonour for joining him."

Éomer's face snaps around to look at the captain with a hard gaze. "I believe that you forgot your station, _captain_ ," the last word Éomer spits out like an insult. His quick rising temper has always been his weakest spot. It still is.

Aldors face hardens, his jawbone showing through his stubble as he grinds his teeth. "And I believe you forget exactly whom you are insulting here," the captain replies with that eerily calm voice he used to have while he was still the prince's teacher.

As Aldor's words sink into Éomer's mind, his eyes soften. "I apologise," he mumbles as he turns to look at Lisswyn again. His lips twitch slightly in a forced half smile. His eyes take in the small woman before him, a whole head shorter than him, and he realizes that he has been unjust – not to the first shieldmaiden of Rohan, but to a friend.

"I am sorry," he says, louder this time. Tentatively his hands reach out to take Lisswyn's. "It was uncalled for. I did not mean to scold you."

"It is alright, Éomer. I understand Éowyn means the world to you, but she is a shieldmaiden," she offers with a hint of reproach.

He nods and they share a moment in silence as Éomer's thoughts wander.

Almost two years ago he had been appointed Third Marshal of the Riddermark with Aldburg as his permanent residence and the duty to watch over Eastemnet. Ever since then the time they are able to spend together is scarce. A day or two every month when he delivers his reports to the king.

Of course he is having good company in the men of his two éoreds at Aldburg and there are a couple of nice maidens living at the king's city of old as well. But none of them are as pleasant and fun a company to him as his sister and the first shieldmaiden had been at Edoras.

"I missed you," he finally confesses without thinking and almost whispering. When realisation of what he just said hits him, his eyes dart up again in shock.

But Lisswyn only smiles at him gently. "I missed you, too. We haven't seen each other in over a month," she answers with her soft voice he so loves to hear, especially when she is singing. And now her voice clearly shows that she still regards him as her friend as well.

He sends her a wide smile, but Lisswyn frowns back now.

"Where is your shieldmaiden?"

"Dargífu? She was on patrol five days ago and they had a rather unsettling encounter as I understand it. I decided to give her some leave. She needs it."

"What happened?" Lisswyn is alarmed now.

"I received multiple reports about some strange riders roaming around in Eastemnet and the vale of the Anduin ever since the beginning of Cermië. The horse breeders and farmers unfortunate enough to cross their paths are very frightened. That is why I send out more patrols. The one Dargífu was on met three of those riders. I have never seen my men and the shieldmaiden so frightened before."

"Where they attacked?"

"No. The mere encounter must have been horrible. But I cannot say more before I have spoken to Théodred about it."

"Of course."

Éomer quickly changes the topic: "So, what's the newest tattle in Edoras?"

They continue their amicable talking until the end of the break. Once back on their way to Helm's Deep silence settles between Aldor, Lisswyn and Éomer who are riding together in the first line now. The two men still feel uneasy about the inglorious conversation earlier.

Lisswyn who rides between them can feel the tension, but she does not wish to be the mediator here and chooses to turn her attention towards the horizon over the plains instead. Every once in a while she can feel the looks the two men are sending her and past her at the other.

Why did her closest confidants among the éohere, her friends, always end up in some sort of unnecessary fight?

~ S ~

The ride to the Hornburg takes the whole day just as Aldor said. When the old fortress nestled on the lower slopes of the White Mountains finally comes into sight, the sun is already setting over the Gap of Rohan.

During the day they have been riding in their usual travel formation in rows of four, mostly in a fast walk or canter. Yet the last two miles with their destination in plain sight before them the two éoreds switch into battle formation with eighty horses in a row and a fast gallop. Only a furlong before they arrive at the causeway, the éoreds slow down to a trot again.

They are greeted with loud cheers and a blowing horn as they cross the causeway to the outer court of the fortress in their old order in rows of four again.

After seeing to Daeroch's wellbeing in the stables, Lisswyn hurries to her new accommodations at the Hornburg: a small room with a bed, an old wardrobe, a table and a chair. Simple, but sufficient. Placing her saddlebags in the corner of the room, she moves to look out of the small window overlooking the dusty plains of the Westfold. Somewhere out there to the northeast her family is making their way back to their winter camp by now…

A small bowl with water and a soft cloth has been placed on the table in Lisswyn's room. For a moment the shieldmaiden wonders over the unusual treatment. Only the king, the princes and the Marshals get to wash in their rooms. For the riders there is a large bathing room in the cellar of the old fortress at Helm's Deep. The shieldmaidens are expected to wash in the kitchen, just like the other few women who work at the Hornburg.

Delighted over the pleasant surprise, Lisswyn takes off her armour, her dusty boots and breeches and her sweaty tunic. Swiftly, she washes off the dust and grime of the travelling and changes into a new tunic and the brown linen shieldmaiden dress that comes as part of their accoutrement provided for by the king. A great supper has been prepared for the men in Éomer's and Aldor's éoreds and as soon as Lisswyn feels presentable again she hurries down to the great hall.

It is almost bursting with the riders of six éoreds. The two seats at the top of the high table on the dais on the other end of the hall are empty, just as the chairs next to them along the table's side. Théodred, Erkenbrand, Éomer and Aldor have not joined the riders yet. The five other captains who dine with their Marshals at the high table stand to the side and converse with each other. Standing in the doorway to the great hall, Lisswyn looks around searching for her two shieldmaidens.

Wilrun and Merelis are seated in the middle of the table directly in front of the dais facing each other. When Merelis sees her commanding shieldmaiden approach she waves at her to sit to her right. Although Wilrun and Merelis are officially under Lisswyn's command ever since they joined the corps five years ago the women feel more like friends and companions. And ultimately it is the king or now Théodred who commands them altogether.

On her way to the table Lisswyn passes by the riders of Aldburg and Edoras. Many of them she knows for years and greets them with a bright smile and a small incline of her head or a wave of her hand. As the men of the different posts have mixed in the great hall, among the riders she exchanges greetings with are some of Erkenbrand's men. They are mostly unfamiliar to her.

Erkenbrand has been Marshal at Helm's Deep for thirty years now and his men seldom come to Edoras. As she walks past the tables she notices a couple of Éorlingas staring at her surprised by yet another female warrior amongst their lines. Lisswyn can't help it and smirks. Three months hence Merelis and Wilrun's post to the Hornburg yet Erkenbrand's men are still unaccustomed to the presence of female warriors.

"Lisswyn!" Merelis beams at her the moment she arrives at the long table. "I saw you ride in with the éoreds earlier, but you did not see me. It was such a sight when the riders came in battle formation in the setting sun. Did you have a good ride?"

Merelis had always been the cheerful, chattering type of girl. When on duty she is just as composed and quiet as all shieldmaidens are, but in her spare time she cannot hold her tongue still for a second, Lisswyn remembers while Merelis continues her rambling not even waiting for Lisswyn's answer.

Wilrun simply looks up at Lisswyn as a greeting. She is a woman of few words, far fewer than Lisswyn and the two exchange a knowing grin. They will not be able to join the lone chatter of their friend any time soon.

"… I am starving if Théodred and Erkenbrand are not going to show up soon," Merelis exaggerates with a sigh.

"Well where are they now?" Lisswyn jumps in.

"They are in a meeting with Éomer and Aldor. I fear a long while before their discussion ceases," Wilrun answers with her quiet, respectful voice and receives a slight nod of Lisswyn's chin.

"Yes. Éomer said he had some vital information for the prince when we met him on our way here. In the meantime, give me your report, Wilrun."

"We had two orc ambushes from the north over the last ten days and a band of Dunlendings continuously raids the villages west of the fords of Isen," Wilrun answers with a grave expression on her face. "It seems that whenever we take out the raiders a new group replaces them sooner than we can send a new patrol there."

"And the orcs?"

"They are small groups really, but they seem to grow bolder and they are bigger, stronger, more skilful than usual. The last fought in daylight."

At the new information Lisswyn's eyes widen in alarm. "That sounds like witchcraft. Do we know where they come from?"

"The Misty Mountains, I suspect. We never captured any prisoners to question them. Where else could they come from?"

"I do not know but it sounds really disturbing. We should double the guard for Théodred."

"We already did. Merelis and I ride together with the prince but leave his security to his own men and their captain while he is in the safety of Helm's Deep."

"Good. I am glad I have you two here," Lisswyn says.

"What about Éowyn, why did she not come with you?" Merelis enters their conversation.

"She stays with the king. His condition has worsened a lot lately," Lisswyn informs them and her friend's faces turn sober for a moment. "Anything else I need to know?"

"Oh, Wilrun has grown a shadow," Merelis blurts out cheerily and grins like a Cheshire cat.

"Oh hush you, that's not true," the other one replies with blushed cheeks.

Lisswyn raises an eyebrow and with a smirk on her lips she looks questioningly at her friends. "What's his name?"

"Elfstan," Merelis answers rolling her eyes and Wilrun blushes even more.

"I guess I wish to hear both sides to this story..."

~ S ~

"How is my father?" Théodred asks the second captain of Edoras. The four commanders have gathered in the Marshal's study at the Hornburg which Théodred uses as his now. He knows he can trust the other three. None of them would ever disclose what is spoken in their private council to Gríma or one of his confidants.

"His sickness is getting worse, his body weaker with every day," Aldor answers with trepidation.

The crown prince's face hardens even more. "How much longer can he bear?"

"I am not the right person to answer this question, I am afraid. Even the healers have difficulties tending to him these days. Gríma controls everything."

"Is there anyone with my father whom we can trust?"

"Yes, my lord. Háma and Gamling stayed at the Meduseld. We agreed they would swear allegiance to Gríma, to be able to stay and keep an eye on him. We can trust them."

"Gamling is a loyal man. I have served many years and fought many battles at his side," Erkenbrand throws in to the conversation. "It's a good decision to have him stay at the king's hall."

"Háma is even more trustworthy. He has been the Meduseld's doorkeeper for almost two decades now. He would never betray lord nor land. And then there is the princess, of course," Aldor adds. "But she is not armed anymore."

While Théodred nods in approval, Éomer stiffens. What Lisswyn told him earlier and what Aldor says now makes him worry for his sister's safety. She is not as fierce and confident as the first shieldmaiden to stand up against a man, even if he was a repulsive creep such as Gríma. She is a gentle soul, not really a fighter.

"Éomer?" the crown prince's voice interrupts his thoughts about Éowyn.

"I am sorry cousin, I was thinking about something. What did you ask?"

Théodred gives him a comforting smile. He knows exactly what Éomer was pondering. He had the same disturbing thoughts about Gríma. He saw the looks Gríma cast upon Lisswyn before he departed for the Hornburg three months ago. Sometimes for split moments he feared for the first shieldmaiden's wellbeing. 'His first shieldmaiden,' he thinks smiling inwardly, his face showing nothing of his thoughts now.

Instead he says, "I asked you if you are still considered trustworthy by my father and his so called right hand?"

"Oh, er… as for now, I am still trusted, yes," Éomer sighs.

"Then why have you come all the way from Aldburg to Helm's Deep?"

"I received some unsettling reports since the beginning of Cermië about black riders crossing our territory. Reportedly they searched for a folk called Halflings and caused great fear among the horse breeders to the far east of our lands and in the vale of the Anduin."

"Black riders? As in raiders?" the heir of Rohan looks at his cousin, his eyes wide with disbelief.

"Raiders we would have taken care of ourselves. No, the horse breeders were neither robbed nor tortured or hurt-"

"Then what is so alarming about some riders on the plains of Rohan?" Erkenbrand growls with impatience at the king's nephew.

"Let him finish, Erkenbrand," Théodred calls his second into place noticing that something about the reports is worrying his cousin immensely. "How many riders are we talking about exactly? And why do they pose a threat?"

"The reports differ when it comes to their number. Some say they were four, others count five to eight, one even claims that they were nine. What they all agree about is to the nature of those riders. The commoners described them as ghostlike, inhumane, faceless, with an evil foreboding and emitting coldness. Some said even that they had the feeling those creatures were able to look right into their heads and hearts. I believed those reports to be over-exaggerated. Therefore I send extra patrols out to find them, but we were unsuccessful until last week."

"You caught them?"

"No, but some of my men had an encounter with three of them-"

"Three riders against a patrol of how many? And they failed to capture them?" Erkenbrand's voice displays his disbelief and disrespect for the young prince and his men.

Deeply offended, Éomer audibly draws in a long breath to calm his temper and remain composed.

"They did not try," he presses through clenched teeth his voice on the brink of snarling. "It was a patrol of ten and they did not dare to stand against them because, as my men described them, the riders were dark, evil. An ancient evil beyond anything we here know; a force creating fear with its mere presence. I was not with that patrol. Therefore I have to trust their judgment, which I do."

"What could possibly be more evil than the Dunlendings and those orcs we are fighting off our lands in the west every day?" Erkenbrand's disregard shows again bringing out Éomer's temper.

"I know my men, Marshal. They do not fear orcs or wargs or trolls. But those riders had them frightened like little children at a ghostly bedtime story," he bellows.

"Then perhaps your boys should spend some more time at the Hornburg with real men…"

"Erkenbrand…" Théodred calls his second again firmly.

"If the Marshal of Aldburg thinks those riders pose a threat to Rohan then we better listen to him," Aldor chides the old warrior as well.

"Are they a threat, Éomer?" Théodred asks his cousin.

The young prince lowers his eyes feeling the scrutiny of the three older and more experienced warriors upon himself. "Perhaps not the riders themselves, but where they came from and what they foreshadow."

"And where and what is that exactly?" Erkenbrand challenges the young Marshal again.

"They came from the southeast…"

"Mordor?" Aldor asks incredulously.

"I believe so…" Éomer trails off lacking for words or an explanation of what happens in the east of his home.

Théodred senses his cousin's discomfit and jumps in to help him. "What is it, cousin?"

"We had a visitor about fifteen days ago, a captain of Gondor on his way to Rivendell. He asked for a fresh horse which we gave him."

"What does a captain of Gondor has to do in Rivendell and with black riders from Mordor?" Erkenbrand frowns.

"He said his name was Boromir and that he had to see Lord Elrond for advice."

"Boromir? The Steward's oldest son," Théodred clarifies. "What would he need to seek advice in?"

"He told me about a dream he and his brother had in which the dark in the east was rising, with light remaining only in the west and a voice that told him he should seek for the sword that was broken in Imladris, something about a council and that Isildur's bane shall be waken."

"Isildur's bane?" Aldor whispers horrified.

At the same time Erkenbrand grunts "Nonsense."

"I know what I heard! I know what he told me!" Éomer snaps.

"Éomer," Théodred tries to calm the situation by gently calling the young prince. "You did good to tell me about him and his dream and the riders of course."

"I am sorry I could not come earlier, but I deemed those riders to be more important. Even though our relations with Gondor aren't the best anymore."

"And you were right in your judgement," Théodred confirms. "If Gondor is sending his heir to seek counsel with the Lord of Rivendell I dare say something is amiss. Perhaps there is a threat lurking in Mordor again and we should take these signs seriously."

"What are you suggesting then, my lord?" Erkenbrand asks, this time his voice lacks the vilification it held when he addressed the younger prince.

"I wish to hear about those riders first hand. We will ride to meet some of the farmers that encountered them," Théodred tells his younger cousin before turning towards his old Marshal and the captain. "Erkenbrand, you and Aldor will hold the fort here against the threats from the north and the west."

"Aye," the experienced Marshal replies.

"When are we leaving?" Éomer inquires.

"You deserve a day's rest. We will depart the day after tomorrow with thirty of my best men and the three shieldmaidens. Your men will stay here and help Erkenbrand's riders on their patrols," Théodred commands his cousin then turns to Erkenbrand again: "Expect us to return in three weeks’ time."

Théodred waits for his subordinates to acknowledge his orders with an incline of their heads.

"Let us join the riders then," he finishes their meeting leading them out of his study at the Hornburg.

~ S ~

"…we did some swordplay and he has readied my horse twice or maybe three times…" Wilrun recounts.

"… Five times, I have counted," Merelis interrupts with a mischievous grin just as the three shieldmaidens realise that the men in the hall have turned quiet and risen from their seats.

Promptly the three women rise as well and Lisswyn looks around to see Théodred and the other three entering the great hall through a small door behind the high table.

A soft smile graces her face as she inclines her head to the crown prince. He answers her greeting with sparkling eyes and a quick incline of the head. From the corner of her eyes, Lisswyn watches him and his taller cousin walk up to their seats at the top of the table.

"Bring in the food," Théodred shouts with a big grin on his face. He knows his men and what they crave most: Food and ale.

As the crown prince takes his seat, the rest follows. The meal is accompanied by soft conversations drowning the hall in a low murmur.

Théodred is only partly listening to an insignificant conversation between Erkenbrand and one of his captains and allows himself to shoot glances over at Lisswyn. Every now and then she looks back with a tentative smile on her lips and his mind turns to a memory from eight years ago.

_It was in the great hall of Edoras. His father was standing before his throne, he, the crown prince, to his left side. The hall was decorated for the ceremony with shields, swords and the king's regalia. All the commanding Éorlingas were gathered in the great hall as well as the shieldmaidens to welcome their newest member. When the two winged door to the hall opened, Lisswyn entered with determined steps, her head held high, but her eyes showed her nervousness. She had finished her training successfully a month before, after four years of the hardest training a female warrior could receive._

_To Théodred she was just a teenager of eighteen years back then. Of course he had met her several times and seen her practice during the past four years. But when she first arrived at the guard's barracks and the training grounds she was fourteen, very slender, almost a child still. A stubborn brat at that, where as he, the crown prince, was a full grown warrior in his late twenties who pursued one of the noble born ladies at court._

_During the course of her training he heard her masters talk about her skills and abilities with praise. With all the talk, his curiosity was peeked and so he started to look at her as a potential companion in battle. When she took the final test he held his fingers crossed, wishing for her to pass it and to be sworn in as shieldmaiden. He valued her as a skilful and capable fighter. On that great day he felt proud for her as he watched her swear the oath to his father._

_Arriving before the king, Lisswyn bowed her head, her chin almost touching her chest before dropping down on her left knee. She had practiced the procedures of the ceremony, the prince could tell by the way she slowly but deliberately pulled her sword from its sheath with steady hands. Slowly, she placed the blade onto her upturned palms and presented it to the king with its sharp blade turned towards her body._

_And then she spoke the oath._

Taken by the old memories, he realises he is staring at her. She must have sensed his attention from her position a couple of feet away for her eyes lift swiftly to meet his with a tentative smile. The moment their eyes lock brings him back from his reminiscence.

'She is so much more to me now,' he feels a flutter of his heart.

Quickly, he brings his attention back to the conversation between Erkenbrand and the captain just missing the suppressed chuckle and wide grin the shieldmaiden gives his younger cousin to his left as Éomer looks at her with crossed eyes and puffed up cheeks. Throwing each other faces has been one of their favourite dinner table games ever since Lisswyn had earned the honour to dine at the royal family table on normal days.

~ S ~

After three hours of eating, talking, watching the riders of Rohan engage in silly drinking games Lisswyn notices with amusement that Wilrun and one of Erkenbrand's men actually do cast each other telltale glances. Yawning, Lisswyn feels the urge for fresh air. With a wish for a good night's rest she leaves her two shieldmaidens at the long table and leaves.

Taking a walk outside has become a habit for her, a ritual before she goes to bed. It is her way of coping with spending the night indoors and not out under the open sky like she used to do on dry nights as a child.

The parapet walk around the old fortress is empty. It is already dark. The moon casts a silvery light on the landscape before the Hornburg. A soft warm summer breeze brushes a strand of Lisswyn's hair that has managed to come free from her braid during the course of the day against her left cheek. She places her lower arms on the balustrade and leans into it watching the moonlit plains allowing her thoughts to wander to her family in their summer yurts somewhere far to the northeast. The feeling of loneliness creeps up from her stomach to her throat forming a lump there.

She has not seen her father since last year's horse fair at Edoras and it has already been three years since the young woman last saw her mother. At times Lisswyn misses them deeply. But then she reminds herself that at the age of twenty-six she would not be living with them anymore even if she had not chosen to become a shieldmaiden. She would have been married to some other horse breeder's son by now and most probably would be a mother, too. Lisswyn cannot imagine what her life would be like if she had chosen that path. The shieldmaiden knows she is happier now than she ever would be in the other situation. Her thoughts linger with her family for a while, her two brothers, one older than herself, one younger. Her older brother's wedding was the last time Lisswyn visited her family three years ago. His first child was born last year, but she had not seen her nephew yet.

The sound of slow steps approaching on the parapet walk tears her from her thoughts. She turns her head to see Théodred strolling towards her.

He is an impressive figure. Average in height, but broader than most of the Éorlingas with very strong shoulders and biceps that show through his white tunic. His gentle face foils the brutal power of his body. A long stubble softens his strong jaw line and square face.

When he reaches her, his right hand touches her left shoulder gently. "Lisswyn," he calls her softly. "It is good to see you here."

There is something elusive in his eyes, Lisswyn cannot really discern. "Have you come to question my allegiance, my lord?" she asks partly jesting and partly in real confusion.

"Of course not," he replies with a smirk clearing her confusion. "But tell me, since when are we back to formality again? I thought we agreed you would call me by my name when we are alone."

"I am sorry, three months of upmost formal behaviour is a hard habit to break," she apologizes with a smile on her lips.

"Was it that bad at Edoras?" his voice softens and he takes down his hand again.

“I was followed every moment of the day. It was not pleasant."

"I am sorry. Did you have a good ride today?" he asks and Lisswyn cannot shake away the feeling that he really is asking something different.

"Yes, it was a wonderful day. Just as any horse breeder's daughter likes it," she jests trying to lift the mood again.

A comfortable silence spreads between them for a while as they watch the plains of the Westfold at night. After a few minutes the prince turns his head to look at her profile. Again memories of their time together come back.

_Her first three years as a shieldmaiden, Lisswyn served as second to the king's or Théodred's personal guards, accompanying them on their patrol rides. When the woman who had been first shieldmaiden back then got pregnant with her first child, Lisswyn was made first shieldmaiden and shortly after the crown prince's personal guard._

_His father had been reluctant at first, of course, because Lisswyn was still very young; only twenty one. But Théodred, Háma, and the other shieldmaidens spoke up for her and praised her skills. Théoden king had noticed them as well and in the end he had heeded their advice over his concern._

_From that day on they had spent most of their time together, riding out on patrols, sparring, getting to know the other's fighting style; growing together as a unit in case they needed to have each other’s backs in an ambush. She had been like a younger sister to him, fourteen years his minor._

'A younger sister,' the prince muses as he watches her profile and how that strand of her hair swirls in the night breeze around her defined cheekbones. A low chuckle escapes his lips. How could she ever have been only a younger sister to him? Slowly his right hand reaches out to touch her cheek.

The sudden feeling of his fingers against her skin lets Lisswyn's heart jump to her throat. Slowly as if sensing a dangerous wild animal she turns to him. With wide eyes she meets his longing gaze. Forcing her breath to remain calm she fights the feeling of her heart racing like a young stallion.

'What is happening?' her mind screams.

Yet, there is no threat there, only Théodred and his gentle grey-blue eyes, a soft expression on his face.

For the second time on this evening Lisswyn cannot discern Théodred's look as he tentatively brushes the loose strand of her hair behind her ear. There his fingers remain just a little too long. Lisswyn blushes and starts to feel uneasy, as she feels every heartbeat drumming against her ribcage, thinking about a way to react properly when Théodred finally takes down his hand and whispers with a throaty voice.

"I am glad you are here."

Lisswyn only blinks at him and the confusion in her face brings him to pull himself together.

"We have to ride to Eastemnet. Éomer reported about some unsettling sightings there," he says his voice back to neutral as is expected of a commander and not betraying any of the feelings he had a moment ago while watching her in silence. "I wish to get first hand reports of the people living along the vale of Anduin."

"Our eastern borders?" she asks noticing the sudden change in his mood and recalling what Éomer had told her earlier that day. "That is a long ride. Who is 'we'?"

"Me and Éomer, and thirty of my best men. You and the other shieldmaidens will come along, too."

"Shouldn't you take your whole éored?" Lisswyn frowns.

"I do not expect any ambush. Too many men will only slow us down. As you have said, it is a long ride. We will be away for at least two weeks."

Lisswyn takes in the information with a slow nod of her head.

"When are we leaving?"

"The day after tomorrow, an hour past dawn."

"The shieldmaidens will be prepared."

The prince smirks at her reply, "I should never expect anything different."

Lisswyn smiles back and they both share a laugh before they switch back to silence again enjoying the peaceful sight of a summer night.

After a few minutes the crown prince turns his head looking at the young woman at his side again. "When did you last practice with the sword and knifes?"

"Just yesterday and the day before that," Lisswyn answers.

"And close body combat?"

She turns her head to overlook the moonlit plains again as she tries to recount the days. "That was before we accompanied the harvesters to the fields in the south. So it must be twelve days now." She glances back at him and finds him grinning at her.

"How about a go-through tomorrow two hours after lunch?"

A beam spreads on her face now, too. "I can agree to that."

"Bring the other shieldmaidens with you. We'll make it group training," he orders. They smile at each other for a moment before turning to face the plains again and fall back into comfortable silence, something they have shared so many times in the past five years.

"You should go to rest. It has been a long day." His smile turns into a wry smirk. "And I should go back inside to join the men or else they'll think their prince to be a tired old weakling or worse…."

His right hand comes up again to touch her left upper arm as a parting gesture, sliding off as his broad, muscular chest brushes her shoulder as he steps past her to enter the old fortress again. The sensation of his hand on her arm and his chest against her shoulder sends a shiver through her body. Not the unpleasant kind of shiver she felt every time Gríma looked at her, but a pleasant warm notion that warily stirs something inside her.

The warmth buzzes, tingles in her stomach and her chest and looking after Théodred walking away, Lisswyn can only wonder at its meaning.

 


	2. Soulmate

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> I do not own the songs in this chapter, they are a traditional from Horsfield's Vocal Music, Alter Bridge, and Carole King.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever and I am not a native speaker, please, keep that in mind before grilling me.
> 
> I have done my upmost to ensure my OC has character and is not a Mary Sue. If you find you don't like my OC, please say why, and not just shout out Mary-Sue!
> 
> I know two princes loving the same woman at the same time is unlikely, but if you look at literature you will find quite a number of love triangles: Camelot, Casablanca, Anna Karenina, Doctor Zhivago, The Great Gatsby... just to name a few.  
> Now don't get me wrong: I'm not comparing my story to these classics. They are way better, but the theme is the same. They are love triangles. So, if you do not like those, my story is probably not the right one for you.
> 
> I follow Tolkien timeline most of the time, with some scenes explicitly taken from the Jackson movies but I also chose to alter some things for the purpose of this story, which most of you will undoubtedly discover.
> 
> This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that maybe upsetting or offensive to readers.
> 
> Thank you so much to my amazing writing buddy, the lovely Polly, and her never ending patience with me. I would not have made it this far without you! Thank you so much to the wonderful JJ for being my sounding board in the final stages of writing and answering all my silly questions!

* * *

  **Soulmate**

 _"Is it possible Mr. Loveable_  
 _Is already in my life?_  
 _Right in front of me_  
 _Or maybe you're in disguise"_ (Natasha Bedingfield)

* * *

It is the first day of Yavannië, the first day of autumn, but the sun shines mercilessly down on the dry plains of Rohan. It is hot like the previous days, with the air upon the horizon flickering from the heat radiating off the dusty ground around the old fortress of Helm's Deep. In the deep, where no summer breeze reaches the ground it is even hotter. The training grounds and the grappling circle are hard and dusty.

Despite the heat, nine Éorlingas stand in the middle of the circle ready to start their grappling exercise, something the shieldmaidens are expected to be physically disadvantaged compared to the men. The training however taught them to use their height and weight disadvantage to an advantage. Aldor stands to the side watching the display of fighting skills with his keen teacher's eyes.

"Alright, try to get me," Théodred dares. The crown prince stands in the middle of the grappling ground, the three shieldmaidens surrounding him as they would do in an ambush. Five Éorlingas approach the group, moving forward slowly, none of them armed.

Théodred's eyes fix on the three men in front of the group, his first captain Edgar and two of his lieutenants, Folcred and Éofor. In the corner of his eyes he notices how Merelis and Wilrun prepare to face one lieutenant each apparently to leave Edgar to him. Lisswyn he knows to cover his back where his second captain Baldhelm and a younger rider called Hulac approach. Warmth spreads in his chest; she will always have his back. And he always has hers.

At a short signal given by Edgar who leads the attack, the Éorlingas rush forward. Merelis is the first to make contact with Folcred. With a fake downward punch and a swift shift to the side he manages to step behind her, kicking the back of her legs and then pulls his right arm around her neck tightening as if to strangle her to death. Had it been a real ambush Merelis would not be able to breath and soon faint. Grabbing the man's lower arm which pulls her in a stranglehold, she slips her right leg back behind his knee then snakes her hip to the left hauling Folcred over her right shoulder going down with him and locking him to the ground with her knees placed on either side of his torso. It is a move that usually gives the smaller and lighter combatant a fair chance to defeat the opponent. But Merelis' position is not exact and a kick from Folcred's hips sends her over his head slamming her to the ground again. His left forearm twines around her throat.

After a short moment of struggling to get out of his grip to no avail Merelis' hands clap on his arms signalling her defeat. Quickly she leaves the grappling area now and stands by Aldor's side.

Together they watch how Folcred turns to Wilrun who is blocking punches from Éofor with her forearms working hard with her feet to hold her stand. Next to her Théodred is on the ground holding Edgar in a close guard with his legs and blocking the captain's punches with his forearms. It takes the crown prince only seconds to find a gap in Edgar's position. Quickly he pulls his arms around the captain's neck drawing him down next to his right shoulder while pushing his hips upwards. With a gurgling sound Edgar claps on Théodred's chest signalling his defeat as well. As soon as the heir is free he jumps to his feet rushing to Wilrun's side who now has to fight off Folcred and Éofor at the same time and is about to go down into a closed hold with no way to escape.

From the side entrance to the fortress a couple of yards away Éomer watches the fight. His eyes follow Lisswyn's every move, her slender, trained figure, her neckline, her defined arms and legs, her slim midriff. Graceful like a cougar he thinks but cannot help to smirk when the other shieldmaiden, Wilrun, is defeated as well and the odds turn against Théodred and the first shieldmaiden who are clearly outnumbered by four attackers now and soon must yield.

Éomer walks over to the training ground to stand next to Merelis and Aldor.

"Merelis, you need to make sure your positioning is accurate when you try to hold your opponent down. You were too sloppy in your movements and the placing of your legs and hands. Also, don't wait for the attackers to come at you, move before they strike and bring them down," Aldor reproaches the young guard.

"I am sorry, I-"

"No apologies, practice," the captain interrupts her while Lisswyn, Théodred and the others come to gather with them.

Swiftly Éomer bends down to pick up Lisswyn's waterskin and hands it to her. With a grateful smile the shieldmaiden takes it and places it against her lips to take five deep gulps.

"Wilrun, you did well against your two opponents. You need to make more use of your smaller body and your higher agility. You have to turn the tide in a grapple within the first three minutes. You will never be able to stand against a man longer than that. And watch out more for your left side. This is where Folcred finally got you," Aldor continues his appraisal of the grappling session.

"Lisswyn, you did fairly well, too, but you should practice on your speed a little more when pulling your opponent over your shoulder. You almost lost control when Baldhelm pressed against you. Théodred, you rely too much on Lisswyn having your back. You must make a visual confirmation that she needs no aid a little more often. Do not just assume she is doing well. Your interaction as a team was good overall," Aldor finishes his observations with a nod of approval.

"I would have thought the first shieldmaiden would easily stand against three opponents," Éomer suddenly tosses in, teasing her with a cheeky smirk.

Baffled her eyes widen as she tries to figure out a pointed response, but her friends are quicker.

"I think I just heard a challenge there," Merelis beams.

"Oh, yes, I heard it, too," Théodred picks up on the teasing. Lisswyn glares at them with played huffiness and wipes the sweat from her forehead back into her hair.

"Teach him a lesson, tomboy," her old teacher smirks, patting her on her shoulder and Éomer's smirk grows even wider.

"Very well," Lisswyn mockingly snaps at him, "What is the prize?"

"A song."

"A song?" she raises her eyebrows in surprise.

"The winner gets to choose a song the loser has to sing tonight after supper in front of the éoreds."

"You….." Lisswyn protests, drawing out the word with indignant spite.

"I… what?" he grins at her devilishly.

"You want to make me sing for the whole crowd…"

"Just because I know how you detest singing in front of others… Should be incentive enough for you to beat me," Éomer mocks with his ever confident smirk and a cheeky sparkle in his warm brown eyes.

Ever since they became friends they have been playfully competitive with each other, daring and bringing out the best in each other. A good competition against the other whether won or lost always filled them with joy.

"You'll have him, Lisswyn," Merelis cheers.

The first shieldmaiden hands her waterskin to Aldor.

Carefully watching each other's moves Éomer and Lisswyn walk back to the grappling ground. With a slight but sharp nod of her chin she signals her approval to start the challenge.

His attack is fast. Leaping at her he gets a hold of her lower left arm and pulls her towards him. As she tries to hit him with her right elbow he catches her other wrist, pulls her with her back against his muscled chest, and holds her tight arms crossed in front of her chest. Unable to move her arms she slides her left leg behind his, pulls at his knee and together they fall backwards. The impact of his back on the ground loosens his grip on her and she pulls free again, jumping into a secure stand.

The prince is back up on his feet as fast as the shieldmaiden. Again they circle each other like lions.

It is Éomer again who makes the next move. With half closed fists he punches at her face and her breast bone. Swinging her upper body backwards Lisswyn can dodge the blow to her head, but not the one to her chest. The impact of the outside of his hand sends her off balance for a moment and Éomer quickly grabs her left arm with both of his hands and turns to the side trying to pull her over his back. But the hardened side of her right hand hits him on his neck just under his right ear barely missing the crucial point on his artery which would have send him to the ground immediately.

She missed the spot deliberately and Éomer ducks away, stepping behind her. He grabs her left elbow and snakes his right arm around her shoulder and chest pulling her backwards until she stumbles against his broad shoulders. But before he has her securely she hits him with her elbow into his hard stomach. The punch on his abdominals is enough to send him slightly out of balance. With a step backwards he regains his poise, using the momentum to pull her with him and sending her over his right knee onto the ground. She catches her fall with her right hand and her left straightens out to block any punches he might send her. Quickly she pushes herself up to kick his knee with her right foot.

Éomer stumbles backwards his face contorted in pain while Lisswyn jumps to a stand again. For a moment they glare at each other like real enemies, hearts thumping, chests pumping.

This time Lisswyn makes the first move. With her bent arms raised in front of her head and chest she kicks at his left side, but his lower arms block her attack easily. It is exactly what she anticipated. With his upper body unguarded she quickly wraps her left arm around his neck securing it with her right in a tight clutch and pulls him down and towards her. But before she can haul him over her left side and send him to the ground his hands are up again clutching her left arm. Dropping his weight he takes her with him.

Together they fall to the ground with her somersaulting away from him in an attempt to come to her feet again as quickly as possible. But Éomer is faster. He moves on top of her, holding her in a closed mount. Leaning forward he kneels above her and tries to get a hold on her arms, thus not noticing how Lisswyn is moving her left foot placing it against his hip and snaking her hip out to the left. With an energetic spin to her right and fiercely pushing her foot against his hip she rolls him off her chest and comes to her feet again.

Éomer is up only a second later, but taken by surprise: Jumping towards him Lisswyn kicks him in his chest and the prince stumbles backwards. Another jump, but this time he anticipates and effectively turns to his left side. His strong right arm blocks her leg and he quickly snakes his left around it and secures her ankle between his biceps and chest. Lisswyn crashes hard onto the ground, the impact emptying her lungs. She blinks trying to clear her eyes from the tears. The moment she needs to come to her fighting senses again takes too long. Éomer seizes his opportunity and gets down on her in a mount. He grabs her lower arms with one hand each, crosses them over her head and presses his forearms against her throat.

"Do you yield, shieldmaiden?" he asks her slightly out of breath but quite confidently, his sparkling eyes playfully searching hers.

Holding his look, Lisswyn refuses to answer at first. Her mind races trying to think of a way out of his hold. But there is none. In a real fight his arms pressing against her throat would cut off her breathing. Realizing her defeat she nods almost unnoticeably. Éomer gets the message nonetheless.

Immediately he eases his hold, uncrossing her arms but does not let go completely. Instead he takes a moment to behold her face as she lies there, defeated underneath him, sweating from the fight in the burning afternoon sun, coughing from the pressure he had put to her throat. She is not beautiful in the classic way, still he could relish the sight of her forever. Just as his mind has finished the thought, he comes back to his senses with a jerk.

"I'll get you an ale later to soothe your voice for my song," he coos into her ear his voice raised to a pitch of utter glee as he lets go of her wrists, carefully lifts off her body, and rises to his feet offering her his hands to pull her up with him.

Still coughing she takes them. "Don't bother mothering me, princeling. I could have taken you out easily, you know that. I didn't miss the neck blow by accident." Her cocky smile sends a blow upon his victory.

"Ah, but you didn't," he smirks back. "You chose not to, so you owe me a song."

"I see my mistake," her face has turned into a devilish grin. "Did no good for your proud vanity." With her last words she punches him playfully in his stomach.

Éomer bends forward in mocked hurt. "Ouch."

When he looks at her again, she is still smugly smirking at him and he smirks back taken by the sight of her sweet dimples and her deep almost green eyes. To him in this moment she has the most beautiful face he has ever seen.

Turning around and brushing off the dust of her tunic she returns to their company leaving him behind.

Still wondering what had just transpired in his head Éomer fails to notice how the others cheer on Lisswyn, how Théodred puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her against his chest, and the knowing look his old teacher sends him.

"It was a good fight, shieldmaiden," the crown prince tells her while he releases his hold on her shoulder.

"Thank you, my lord." Lisswyn looks at Aldor for confirmation. Her mentor simply smiles at her gently and hands her back the waterskin.

"Let's go to the kitchen and ask for a bathtub and some water to get cleaned," Lisswyn addresses the other two shieldmaidens. Together the three women make their way to the small kitchen in the old fortress the eyes of the three men following them.

~ S ~

It takes four wood buckets of boiling water to warm the fresh water from the deep's well in the bathtub enough for the three shieldmaidens to take their turns dunking in. As Wilrun sets down the last bucket after emptying it Lisswyn notices how her companion moves her left shoulder in a backwards circle.

"What's wrong with your shoulder?"

The two women's eyes meet and Wilrun flinches slightly. "I got it dislocated a good month ago."

"How did it happen?" Lisswyn inquires motioning with her chin for Wilrun to get into the bathtub first.

Obeying her captain's order the tallest of the three women takes off her tunic explaining. "We were fighting off Dunlendings in the Westmarch beyond the fords of Isen who were about to raid the villages there. One of them got a good hold of my arm pulling it back until it popped," she finishes pulling down her breeches.

Lisswyn's eyebrows shoot up in disbelief. "He defeated you?"

"By the Valar, no!" Wilrun replies scornful. "Stuck my knife into his neck as an answer for that."

Quickly the tall woman climbs into the bathtub and ducks down, cleaning her arms and legs from the dust and sweat after training.

"Sometimes your brutality scares me, Wilrun," Lisswyn replies with mirth and starts to untangle her usual three-stranded braid. "Did you see the healers afterwards?"

"Aye. They popped it back in and I got a couple of massages, too. But it still feels sore every time I use my arm too much."

With a backwards motion Wilrun slips completely under the water's surface. After a short moment her head comes back up, her hair and face wet now. With a swift motion she wipes across her face and grabs the soap bar resting on a small table nearby to wash her hair.

"Go, see them again after we are done here. Tell them it still hurts and that I send you to check on it again," Lisswyn orders her gently, taking off her boots.

"Aye," Wilrun replies rubbing the soap across her head until her hair is foamed.

Merelis appears from behind the small wooden folding screen that shields off the bathing area from the rest of the kitchen. In her right hand she carries another bucket filled with warm water. Without any word of warning she empties it over Wilrun's head.

The other shieldmaiden splutters before she snaps at the younger woman, "Damn it, Merelis. What was that for? I was not ready yet."

"I just added some warm water…," is her teasing reply but Lisswyn shaking her head stops her midsentence. The first shieldmaiden's look speaks of disapproval.

"Warn me next time, for Béma's sake," Wilrun grumbles as she gets up and out of the water.

"Merelis, you are next," Lisswyn commands handing Wilrun a towel. Her voice sounds harder than usual. The scolded woman looks remorseful, but starts to undress nonetheless.

"You will clean up here for penitence," Lisswyn continues her reprimand.

"Aye. Sorry, Wilrun."

"You are just a devious little rascal, Merelis," the other tells her rubbing her arms and upper body dry with the towel.

"And don't you just like that in me?" Merelis questions her voice turned into a squeak as if she was indeed some small fantasy animal, all the while batting with her eyelashes as if to charm her. The three women burst out laughing at her funny display.

"Get done, Merelis," Lisswyn says still chuckling, "I want to get clean before supper as well."

The young woman quickly climbs into the bathtub and dunks underneath the water. Her eyes still closed from the dive she asks, "Do you think, Théodred is going to Edoras for the horse fair, Lisswyn?"

"I don't know. Why are you asking?"

"I hope he does and takes us along. I wish to see my family and look for some things to buy from the merchants of the south."

Shrugging her shoulders Lisswyn answers, "If he is going, he will certainly take us with him." But she doubts he will. Neither Theodred nor any of the shieldmaidens are welcome there anymore. They probably wouldn't even make it past the gates.

Before her inner eyes Lisswyn sees Eowyn standing outside the Meduseld, staring into the distance as she'd always done. Silently the first shieldmaiden prays to Béma that the princess is well and coping. Her stomach churns thinking of the lust she'd seen in Gríma's eyes whenever Éowyn was near… She is a shieldmaiden though, trained to deal with all sorts of dangerous situations.

"What are you looking for?" Wilrun pulls Lisswyn out of her thoughts as she joins the conversation combing her dark blond hair .

"Don't know yet. But we received our salary at midsummer's eve here at the Hornburg with no way to spend it …I just feel like buying something. Maybe some perfume."

"You are a noble lady manqué," Wilrun laughs.

"Why? Are you not spending your salaries on beautiful things for yourself?" Merelis sounds sincerely astound, her hands foaming her curly hair.

"Not as much as you do. Most of it I spend on presents for my family when I see them on Yule," Wilrun pulls up her breeches.

"What about you Lisswyn?"

The first shieldmaiden turns around, pulling her tunic over her head while Merelis leans back to clean her hair from the soap in the water

"I cannot spend much."

"Why not?" Merelis shakes her head with her hair still in the water to untangle it there.

"My father is in a great debt ever since I entered my shieldmaiden training…" '…and it was all my fault,' she finishes the sentence in her head as her breeches land on the floor with a small thud. "I use most of my salary to help him pay it off," she continues her explanation aloud.

"You do not keep it for yourself?" Merelis looks surprised as she stands up to leave the bathtub.

"Not all families are as wealthy as yours, Merelis…"

Quickly the two women change positions and Lisswyn slips underneath the water's surface as well.

~ S ~

The great hall is filled with voices as the dining slowly comes to an end. Pushing his heavy chair back Théodred rises, pounding with the hilt of his knife on the wooden table top. The voices fall silent.

"Éorlingas. We had a playful duel today at the training grounds and I believe it is time for the loser to pay the debt."

Loud cheers, pounds on the tables and applause fill the hall. Grinning widely he turns slightly to his left where Lisswyn rises from her seat at the first table in front of the podium where the high table for the leading lords and commanders is placed. Blushing violently she inclines her head towards the princes signalling her defeat and acceptance of the dept.

"I believe the whole fight erupted over a song?" Théodred asks smugly with one eyebrow raised shifting his gaze to his cousin who is now rising as well next to him. 'This will be just like the old days at Edoras when Éomer, Lisswyn and their friends spent happy nights together in the great hall of the Meduseld,' Théodred muses.

"Which song does the first shieldmaiden owe you, Marshal of Aldburg?" he asks.

Instead of naming a song, Éomer straightens himself and then lets his strong tenor voice resonate through the great hall looking out at the crowd.

_"I am the jolly prince of drinkers,  
Ranting, roaring, fuddling boys!..."_

Surprised by his action Lisswyn's mouth drops open. Disbelieving she stares at him as the first riders in the crowd start to sing along. After a short moment Lisswyn comes back to her senses and joins them.

 _"...Who take a delight in tossing full tankards,_  
_Filling the ale-house with my noise._  
_Ten gallons at a draught_  
_Did I pour down my throat._  
_But hang such silly sips as these:_  
_I laid me all along_  
_With my mouth unto the bung,_  
_And I drank off a hogshead at my ease..."_

At the end of the first verse almost the whole crowd has joined Éomer in his singing, two riders have even grabbed one of the serving maids each and started dancing. Knowing the men are behind him now Éomer turns slightly to catch Lisswyn's gaze again. Their eyes lock. Lifting the corners of his lips to a soft smile while singing he desperately hopes that his message is coming across: I will never embarrass you and certainly not in front of others.

Her eyes show gratitude and puzzlement. A warm feeling spreads in his chest and for a moment Éomer loses track of the lyrics, captured by her sight. Suddenly he can feel his heart beat faster. 'What is wrong with me?' he wonders and brings himself forcefully back to singing.

 _"...I've heard that a fop who'd toss a full tankard_  
_Crowned himself the prince of sots;_  
_But hang such silly idle drunkards,_  
_Snatch their flagons, break their pots;_  
_My friend and I did join_  
_For a cellar full of wine,_  
_And locked the vintner out of door._  
_One morning at the tap,_  
_There we drank it every drop,_  
_And eagerly ranged about for more."_

More and more riders have started to dance with the serving and kitchen maids. When the song is over the happy commotion threatens to end, but with a quick wave of his right hand Théodred orders a group of musicians to start playing a tune. Again the riders cheer before joining the minstrels with their out of tune singing.

"Music?" Éomers inquires turning towards his older cousin.

"I thought the men would enjoy dancing."

"They always do."

Both princes turn to overlook the jolly crowd before taking their seats again. After a pause Théodred addresses his cousin.

"What you just did was very honourable."

Éomer turns his head back to look at the older prince, and Théodred knocks his head in Lisswyn's direction before facing the great hall again.

"I could not knowingly embarrass her in front of everyone, could I?"

"She does have a beautiful singing voice."

"Aye. But she is not comfortable with all the attention turned to her."

Théodred turns his head to look at him, "She will need to get used to it." Without waiting for a reply the heir of Rohan rises from his large chair walking over to the group of musicians.

Unable to fathom what his cousin just tried to tell him Éomer turns back to the hall. Unthinkingly his eyes search the crowd for her. Of course he finds her still sitting on her seat at the table fidgeting with her dress. She has changed from the usual dark brown linen tunic she wears during the day and especially when on duty to an off-white summer dress with three quarter sleeves and a v-shaped neckline made from very fine rohirric wool. A simple dress, but it becomes her, emphasizing the red tinge to her blond hair especially in the light of hundreds of candles. She is deeply caught in conversation with the other two shieldmaidens unawares of his watching.

The minstrels start another song and by now all of the twenty serving and kitchen maids are occupied dancing. A young rider approaches the three shieldmaidens who are talking to each other with smiles on their faces.

"Lady Wilrun, may I have this dance?" the young man Merelis was talking about the night before asks. Blushing violently Wilrun casts a look towards her friends who grin devilish at her and shyly nods her approval before walking off towards the middle of the hall to dance with her admirer.

"So it is down to the two of us," Merelis cheerfully exclaims. "Who would you like to dance with?"

"None, if possible," Lisswyn replies, starting to feel uneasy about the impending situation. Now that Wilrun is dancing with one of the riders it will only be a matter of time until another pulls his guts together and asks Merelis or herself for a dance.

Lisswyn does not generally dislike dancing, but the intimacy that always comes along with it still makes her feel uneasy, especially with men she is not friends with. In fact she only feels comfortable dancing with men of her own choosing, like Aldor, Éomer, Háma, and Edoras' chief healer Tirwald, five or six of the riders she spends most of her time with and the men in her family of course, her father, her brothers, her uncle and cousin. Withouth thinking Lisswyn looks up to the high table to where Éomer was sitting earlier to find him watching her. As their eyes meet, they both start to smile fondly at each other.

Éomer notices the unease in the shieldmaiden's posture. She feels uncomfortable, he realizes. When they were younger and their friendship new she used to flee from the high day's feasts when the dancing started. Why exactly it bothered her remained a mystery to him. In recent years Lisswyn began to truly enjoy dancing, but only with men she is well acquainted, but now he can clearly see her wish to disappear. Sending her a reassuring smile he rises from his chair and starts walking over to her. He will be her rescuer like so many times before on nights of dancing in the past. Keeping eye contact with Lisswyn he swiftly makes his way around the high table when suddenly a broad body offering her a strong hand blocks their views.

"May I have this dance, Lisswyn?" Théodred's deep voice rips her back to a situation she dreads so much.

Taken by surprise she turns her face and looks up. The crown prince gently smiles at her. They have been dancing many times in the past. She enjoys dancing with him. Not only is he a good dancer, his movements fluid and gentle, she also always enjoyed the feeling of his strong arms guiding her. Yet with so many eyes watching them…

Nonetheless Lisswyn accepts his offer with a polite "Of course, my lord." Anything else would be consindered disrespectful. Feeling self-conscious she hesitatingly takes the offered hand and rises from the bench. Stiffly she follows him to the middle of the great hall where benches and tables have been pushed aside to make room for a dancing area.

Éomer watches Lisswyn rise from where he has stopped mid-stride towards her. A pang of disappointment and anger rushes through him.

Had it been any other rider he would have used his higher rank as the king's nephew to intervene, claiming the dance had been promised to him earlier. But he cannot do this with his cousin who is also his elder and his commander. Swallowing down his disappointment he watches her walk away from him on Théodred's arm. After a few steps Lisswyn turns her head very slightly to look at him again. Quickly he puts a smile on his face trying to reassure her and she smiles back at him softly, insecurity showing in her beautiful round eyes.

Taking a deep breath Éomer steps back to lean against a pillar in the hall to watch her dance.

It is one of the fast group dances. The dancers form a large ring that spins four steps to the left then four to the right, to the centre and back multiple times. Then they separate into dancing couples for some slower turns and spins before coming back together into the large ring.

As Théodred and Lisswyn take their first spins alone, the crown prince notices the shieldmaiden's anxiety. "It has been a while since we last danced," he says soothingly to put her at ease.

"Yes," she replies softly, her mind spinning around when they last danced together. "It was on the spring feast at Edoras, wasn't it?"

"You remember?" The smile on Théodreds face brightens. Not only has he managed to distract her from her discomfiture, her recalling their last dance also gives him hope for what he plans for the future. He can feel as well that her movements have become more fluid and her stiff posture relaxed.

"There has been no feast at the Meduseld since then…"

The rhythm of the song changes and the part where the group dances in a large ring starts again, intercepting their conversation for a short while. When the tune becomes slower again for the couples to take their spins separately, Théodred quickly picks up the topic again.

"It saddens me to hear that. There was no midsummer feast?"

"No, but surely you had one here?"

"Yes, and a couple of other spontaneous dancing nights such as this as well…. although I did not dance on them."

"Why not?"

Théodred cannot help himself and flashes her a wide grin before leaning in a little to whisper, "The person I wished to dance with has not been at hand until tonight."

Blushing heavily Lisswyn averts her eyes and quickly looks around in the great hall to escape the crown prince's grey-blue eyes. It has become strangely meaningful again, just like the night before…

As her eyes dart about the hall they suddenly make contact with Éomer's again. For a tiny moment she can see his face hardened and his eyes seemingly pierce the person holding her, but quickly he brightens up again, sending her a smile.

"Have I left you speechless now?" Théodred pulls her attention back to himself.

"You give me too much credit, my lord."

"No, I don't. I am truly glad you are here now, Lisswyn. I missed you."

His words cause a warmth spreading in her stomach. But her mind tells her to negate there could be a deeper meaning to his words. Briskly she plays his comment down, "Certainly I am of no great importance that you should miss me, my lord?"

"You are my shieldmaiden, of course there is good reason to miss you." And with his words the music accelerates again and the dancers come back to form the wide circle. The music's tempo gets ever faster and then comes to a sudden end. Quickly Lisswyn pulls her hands free from the two men she has been dancing in between in the circle and turns around to leave, when a strong hand grabs her by her lower arm.

"You are not running away, are you?" Théodred looks at her with warm and gentle eyes, a smile playing on his lips hiding his anxiety about her reaction.

Lisswyn swallows, trying to figure out a polite reply.

"Good, because I wish for another dance to continue our conversation," the heir tells her straight forward, his lips still smiling, but his eyes searching hers questioningly.

The musicians pick up a slow tune this time. Gently Théodred pulls Lisswyn into his arms again and starts the slow waltzing dance. Controlling her breathing the shieldmaiden forces herself to stay calm despite the many looks she receives now that the crown prince is dancing with her the second dance in a row.

"If you do not mind me saying so, you looked about ready to bite any who dared ask you to dance," Théodred speaks again.

Lisswyn smiles gratefully at him, "I have only been comfortable dancing with those I know well."

"Oh?"

"It is true. Like you and Éomer, or Aldor and Háma."

Holding her close to him Théodred leans down a little and whispers discretely, "Then perhaps you should marry one of us."

Lisswyn almost trips over her own feet, but the crown prince's reflexes are quicker. Fastening his hold on her he prevents her from falling. Recovering her feet she tries to cover her astonishment with a laugh. "Yes, perhaps I should."

Théodred looks at her waiting. "Well?"

"My lord?"

"Will you have one of us?"

Lisswyn can feel her cheeks blush and her heart pound against her ribcage. Is he being serious? Certainly he cannot be. The time for foolish jesting about a matter as serious as marriage has clearly passed some thirty seconds ago.

"I believe, Aldor and Háma are already married, my lord," she tries to bring an end to his game, but the prince is not so willing to let her slip past a response just yet.

"That brings it down to only two to choose from."

His insisting on an answer causes Lisswyn to stiffen in his arms. Théodred notices her discomfiture. Her fearful silence lets him realize that he has just pinned her to a wall and she is clearly looking for a way out. Her hesitation makes the silence between them almost unbearable. The heir feels a sting in his left chest.

Quickly recovering from the blow that also injured his pride somewhat he leans back, producing a thundering laugh.

"Relax, Lisswyn, I was just jesting."

It is an outright lie, but his smug face covers it well.

A relieved laugh escapes Lisswyn's lips, "Of course you were, my lord."

'If only she knew.' Théodred looks at her smile and the dimples that it leaves in her cheeks. He hates having to lie to her but it was necessary and it is clearly evident he must proceed with care. 'One step after the other,' he tells himself. 'Get her father's permission for marriage first and court her modestly until then.'

Their dance has come to an end and before either of them can say anything, Éomer steps up to them presenting three large mugs of ale.

"I believe the two of you must be thirsty by now," he suggests cheerfully fighting down the sour feeling of rivalry welled up in his chest. The notion is ridiculous, he scolds himself. There is no meaning behind Théodred's actions tonight. He simply had two dances with his shieldmaiden, a gesture of friendship. Because that is what they are; friends.

"Thank you, Éomer," Théodred takes one of the offered mugs and expectantly looks at Lisswyn. Smiling she takes another and the three touch mugs.

"To the better grappler and his worthy opponent," the crown prince toasts before they all take a gulp from the strong ale. Aldor joins the three.

"May I have the lady for a dance now?" he asks playfully and quickly takes the mug from her hands to give it to Éomer. Baffled by the captain's lack of respect the young Marshal takes it while Théodred bursts out laughing.

"To him you are still an unruly child, I fear," the heir's sturdy hand claps on Éomer's shoulder.

As Aldor leads Lisswyn back to the dancing area, a rider steps up to Théodred and whispers something in his ear. The crown prince's face turns grave.

"Excuse me, cousin. My presence is required elsewhere." And thus he leaves Éomer by himself. Sighing the young prince walks over to his pillar to lean against it again and watch the couples dancing.

As his eyes trail the first shieldmaiden he thinks back to when he first saw Lisswyn twelve years ago.

 _It was at the beginning of Urim_ _ë_ _, the week after the new riders of Rohan who had just finished their training were sworn in, when the new recruits were introduced to their older comrades at the barracks. Lisswyn was at the end of the line of twenty young Éorlingas who wished to become riders of Rohan one day. The only girl entering the training in this year. The novices had to pass all the older trainees paying them respect before they were given a bed and a locker in the large sleeping rooms that are shared by a whole class._

_In the two classes above Éomer's were three shieldmaiden trainees, but there was none in his. And the ones who were in their last two years of training were full grown women displaying the physical features as such._

_The girl who now stepped up to pass him and his companions was almost a child still. Flat like a woodplank, with a round face that still showed the signs of a child's higher fat amount in the lower skin layers. Her clothes clearly identified her as a commoner of the plains. Her face was not unpleasant to look at. Yet it lacked what he would have called beauty. Her nose was a little too long, her cheeks a little too round with soft dimples that showed every time she smiled shyly while inclining her head to pay her respect. She was obviously intimidated by her surroundings and the large number of young men she had to pass before her teacher, Aldor, would show her to the girl's sleeping room._

_Éomer's companions to his right and left started making comments about her boyish figure and her overall sticking out as a young commoner of the Wold as soon as they caught sight of her._

_"Babyface", "Toddler", "Dimwit", "Horsey face", and "Muppet" were among the less deriding._

_Éomer joined them in their fun. "Country bumpkin," he called her, but deep down he knew that his behaviour was most unbecoming for the king's nephew. The wish to not lose his face in front of the others kept him on his unruly track. To his misfortune Aldor heard some of the nasty comments about Lisswyn and also noticed Éomer was among those uttering them in her back so she would hear them. Éomer learned his lesson the same evening, when the king called him to his study. Aldor, Háma and even Théodred were present to witness Éomer's chiding and to hear his punishment. He had to apologize to her the next morning, in front of the whole recruits and not only in his name but on behalf of all the others who had insulted her._

_It was the most humiliating moment in his young life and the whole situation had done it for him. He hated her although she had done nothing and was just as embarrassed as he was._

_He would ignore her for the rest of his life, he decided the moment his apology was said. How could he know that staying true to the promise he had made to himself would be the hardest to keep?_

Smiling to himself at the old memory Éomer watches Lisswyn and Aldor conversing while dancing to a faster waltz.

"You seemed a little put out earlier when you were dancing with the prince," the old teacher tells her. "Is something wrong?"

"No. Everything is fine. He was just jesting about my marrying."

Raising his eyebrows Aldor looks at his former trainee. "Have I missed something?"

"Missed something?"

"Are you being courted?"

"No, Aldor," Lisswyn chuckles at the ridiculousness of his question.

"Don't you wish to marry one day?" the captain asks her with surprise.

"Of course I do. It's just … there is no one courting me."

"You are rather close to a couple of unmarried men. I could think of one or two who might have the wish."

Surprised by his answer Lisswyn stares at him, "Do not make fun of me."

"I don't. Take Éomer for example. The two of you are friends since your years of training. You are so close sometimes it seems you communicate without words. Just like an old couple."

"We are not. We are just very good friends."

"Who know each other by heart…"

"Yes, sometimes very good friends do…"

"Sometimes you tease each other like newlyweds."

"Oh, stop it. I said we are very good friends."

At her reply Aldor bursts out laughing, "Methinks thou dost protest too much."

Swiftly he spins her around and Lisswyn almost trips over her feet again.

Quickly holding on to Aldor's arm she regains her composure as the dance continues.

~ S ~

Two grim faces await Théodred at his study's door. Erkenbrand and one of his captains, the later looking dishevelled and exhausted.

Together they enter his study and Théodred sits down behind his desk, "What is it?"

"One of my patrols returned only minutes ago," Erkenbrand informs him.

Shifting his gaze to the captain Théodred signals him with a move of his chin to deliver his report.

"We were attacked at the fords of Isen, my lord, by a very large number of orcs. We barely stood a chance."

"What happened?"

"We lost thirty-two men," Erkenbrand tosses in.

Théodred's eyes widen in shocked surprise. "How many orcs are we talking about?"

"One hundred and fifty. We counted their carcasses as we piled them to be burned."

"Did you kill all?"

"Aye, my lord, but at a high cost. Another fifteen men are wounded."

The prince's eyes shift to his Marshal. "How many did you send out?"

"Sixty, my lord," Erkenbrand replies.

Théodred looks to the side silently swearing.

"Théodred, they bore the white hand of Isengard," the Marshal continues.

The prince's head whips back to look at him. "Saruman?" he asks incredulously. "He is our ally."

"I already told you, he might be no longer…"

"Thank you, captain," Théodred dismisses the rider turning towards him briefly before looking at Erkenbrand again with a grave expression as the captain leaves.

"We have to double the patrols to the north and west."

"Aye, my lord, and I would advise you to refrain from riding out to the east. You might not be safe."

"I see your reasoning, Erkenbrand, but I will go nonetheless."

"Aye, my lord."

With an incline of his head Théodred dismisses his second, but Erkenbrand refrains from leaving.

"Is there anything else?" the prince sounds puzzled.

"May I speak openly?"

"Of course."

"You should prepare to take over from your father sooner than you thought."

Théodred's face hardens as he clenches his jaw and his upper arm muscles tighten. "My father is still alive, Marshall, and with Béma's help he may recover."

"The king does not have to be dead for you to take over, my lord."

Outraged Théodred looks at the Marshall of Helm's Deep, his voice hard and cold like ice. "What are you trying to tell me? That I should start an open revolt against my father?"

"I would never suggest anything like that, my lord," Erkenbrand is as calm as before. "The majority of the Éohere are already following your command. All it takes is for you to act as your father's deputy in any questions concerning the Riddermark's interests."

"I see," the prince replies short-clipped.

"If you have all the nobles behind you, there will be no problems."

Théodred rubs the stubble at his chin thinking about his Marshal's suggestion. After a short moment of silence Erkenbrand continues. "And you should consider marrying soon and ensure the continuation of your line."

Surprised the prince looks up. He hasn't thought the Marshal would bring up this topic, but it is a just point.

"I have already decided as much, Erkenbrand." A smile appears on the prince's so far grim face. "If everything goes as I plan it I will be marrying soon."

It is for Erkenbrand to be surprised now. "Have you made arrangements yet?"

The smile on Théodred's face widens, but he shakes his head slightly. "No, not yet, but I will as soon as I have her father's permission."

"May I ask who the lucky lady is?"

The smile grows into a sheepish grin. "Haven't you guessed that already?"

A smug smile spreads on Erkenbrands face. "A good choice, my lord. She will be a widely accepted queen."

"Let's go back to the great hall," Théodred says still smiling.

~ S ~

After the dance has ended, Aldor walks Lisswyn back to where Éomer is standing now. The prince notices her red cheeks and a sweaty film on her neckline. Smiling softly at her Éomer hands her the mug of ale. Gratefully she takes five large gulps.

"My lady, it was a pleasure," Aldor says playfully bowing in front of her and Éomer before he leaves her with the Marshal.

Éomer takes a sip from his ale as well then leans closer to whisper discretely, "I always thought Théodred and Aldor were good dancers…"

Surprised Lisswyn takes the mug down from her lips. "They are."

"Well, then I must have hit you hard this afternoon, because I noticed you tripped twice while dancing. Do you feel dizzy?" he purrs into her ear like a pompous cat presenting a dead rat for her praise.

After all the teasing from Théodred and Aldor this does it for Lisswyn. Feeling anger bubbling up inside her she snaps at him, "It is simply a little too hot for dancing." She then takes a last gulp from her ale and slams the mug on a table nearby. "Since we will be leaving early tomorrow morning I shall retire now. Good night, Éomer." Without waiting for a reply she turns on her heals and rushes away.

Her sudden outburst takes him totally by surprise. His mouth agape he wonders what it was he did wrong. How could this evening start so nice and then end so awful? Watching her retreating back his mind wanders back to his memories.

_His next encounter with the "tomboy" was three weeks after his public apology. His sleep was often plagued by nightmares ever since his parents had died five years ago. During those nights he usually went outside to find peace of mind. The fresh night air and a look at the stars were always calming to him._

_On this particular night however when he was already about to step down the three steps to the barrack's back entrance he noticed that the court behind the barracks – the only place the trainees were allowed to go after sleeping time had been announced – was already occupied. The tomboy was sitting there in the grass, arms wrapped around her tucked up legs, head bent backwards and looking up into the sky. Quickly he stepped back into the entrance's shadow and watched her for a moment. Until then he had successfully ignored her. There was no way he would acknowledge her now. Silently swearing he went back inside._

_The situation repeated itself numerous times within the next weeks. Anxious about finding her on his patch of grass he had made it a habit to peek around the corner of the back door before stepping outside. Often enough he found her sitting there again and every time he chose to avoid her, spending the rest of his night lying awake in his bed staring at the ceiling._

_During the winter it became better. Obviously the cold of night and the snow on the ground kept her inside. But then came this one night at the end of Viress_ ë _that somehow changed everything._

_He had jolted awake from a terrible dream about his mother's death and quickly walked outside where he found her on his lawn again. But before he could turn away he heard a clear female voice, singing. The sound touched him and he halted then slowly slid down to sit leaned against the door frame where she could not see him and listened._

_Her voice was beautiful and her singing reminded him of his mother who had always sung to him to lull him into sleep as a child. For a long moment he listened:_

_„..._ _I feel you in the wind  
You guide me constantly  
And I'll come home and I miss your face so  
Smiling down on me  
I close my eyes to see  
I carry the things that remind me of you  
In loving memory of  
The one that was so true  
You were as kind as you could be  
And even though you're gone  
You still mean the world to me_ _..."_

_Suddenly, with Lisswyn's soft clear voice in his ears and his mind with his mother a lonely tear rolled down his right cheek. Angry at the girl who caused such a display of weakness on him he wiped the tear away and hurried back inside._

_His unnoticed nightly listening did not change his behaviour during the days. He still ignored her completely which was very easy. Since they were on different levels of training their daily schedules differed greatly. Only during meals they were at the same place, the large dining hall at the barracks, and he would always sit with his back to her._

_At nights however when a nightmare ripped him from his sleep one part of him hoped to find her outside singing. The other feared it. Strangely enough he did not come upon her for many weeks and soon he found himself disappointed when she was not on his patch of grass … something seemed to be missing._

_It was almost six weeks later when he met her again at night. Another bad dream had stolen his night's peace away. When he came to the back door he could already hear her sing._

_"Sometimes I wonder if I'm ever gonna make it home again_  
_It's so far and out of sight_  
_I really need someone to talk to, and nobody else_  
_Knows how to comfort me tonight._  
_Snow is cold, rain is wet,_  
_Chills my soul right to the marrow._  
_I won't be happy till I see you alone again,_  
_Till I'm home again and feeling right."_

_This time he did not back away. Quietly he walked down the steps and a couple of paces towards her before he stopped._

_"Is that how you feel?" he asked her softly._

_Startled by the unexpected voice in her back she silenced while her head spun around and she jumped to her feat._

_"I am sorry. I did not mean to scare you."_

_Watching him with fearful eyes she carefully walked in a wide circle around him and towards the barrack's door while he turned to still face her._

_"Why are you not sleeping?" he now demanded, bringing all the authority he could muster into his voice._

_His harsh tone made her stop in her tracks._

_"I am not used to sleeping indoors," she replied hesitantly._

_"Oh?"_

_A slight nod with her head was her only answer._

_"Why not?"_

_"My family are horse breeders."_

_He waited for her to continue and when she didn't he signalled with his hand for her to elaborate._

_"Most of the time in the year we follow our horses when they roam around in the Wold. We set up our summer yurts only if the weather requires it. On dry nights like this we sleep under the stars."_

_"I see."_

_Although his uncle made sure he learned more about Rohan than any of his companions he had not known this yet. He had imagined the horse breeders to have farms like the crop growers around Aldburg and Edoras. That the horse breeders were nomads was new to him._

_Looking at the girl in front of him he suddenly felt admiration for her. A life like hers was surely hard, but she had lived it. Now she was here at Edoras, far from her family and all alone facing all those rude young men who made fun of her, but she never showed whether it hurt her or not or what she felt like inside. Only he now knew…_

_"May I retire, my lord?" she suddenly asked him._

_"Éomer. Just Éomer."_

_In the pale moonlight he could see her chin tighten as if she was biting down hard._

_"And you are Lisswyn, I believe?" He knew, of course. How could he ever forget the name that stood for his worst humiliation?_

_"Aye."_

_It was the short answer the novices were taught in their first week. The only answer that was considered proper in front of a superior warrior besides "no"._

_"I liked your song," he tried to keep the conversation that was clearly one sided up. But Lisswyn would not do him the favour and join it._

_"I come out here a lot, you know? At night, I mean," Éomer confesses._

_"I know, I have seen you."_

_"You have?"_

_"Aye."_

_"Why did you never…?"_

_"I did not wish to disturb you. You seem to …. detest my presence."_

_"No," his answer was too quick and too loud, he realized the moment he had said it. Although it had been true for many weeks it was not true anymore._

_"May I retire?" she asked again._

_"Of course," was all he could answer and she hurried past him and back inside._

_Standing there on the open he suddenly felt sorry for his words and actions towards her…_

Just like he does now. Although he still does not understand why she reacted so angrily just minutes ago when he teased her about her tripping twice while dancing. He does not have the time to dwell on his disappointment because Théodred steps up to him again.

"Where is Lisswyn?" the crown prince asks him straight away.

"She retired to her room a few minutes ago."

"One of Erkenbrand's captains has come back with his patrol. They had a grave encounter with a large band of orcs to the north," Théodred briefly gives his cousin the details of the assault. "We need to be prepared for unexpected ambushes."

"Of course."

"Let's retire as well. We leave one hour after dawn tomorrow morning."

Éomer nods in agreement and the two princes start to make their way back to their sleeping chambers.

~ S ~

Half an hour later Éomer lies in his bed and stares at the ceiling. Sleep will not come. His mind circles around his taut parting from Lisswyn earlier. Before they became friends their encounters were always like this he recalls closing his eyes.

 _A week after they had first spoken in the dead of night, the midsummer festivities at Edoras had started. This meant a whole week without training for the recruits. It was the night of his sixteenth birthday, the twenty-second of Nári_ ë _, the day before midsummer's day. Éomer and some of his closest companions had gone to one of the taverns in the city that was known to have a brothel upstairs. One hour of private time with a young wrench was his birthday present from his companions. He walked downstairs one hour later a man._

_Another two hours later their group returned to the barracks – way too late and if one of the guards had caught them they would have been reprimanded and punished. But somehow good fortune had them return unnoticed until they reached the barrack's backdoor._

_They did not see her at first because she was sitting in the shadows of the doorframe. When the six young men came upon her Lisswyn immediately jumped to her feet and stepped to the side to let them pass._

_Wigbald, one of his friends, reacted instantly, "If you say but one word about our returning too late, dimwit...," he threatened her pointing his finger at her._

_Wide eyed she looked at them all and swallowed hard. Wigbald stepped closer to her and she crunched back into the wall._

_"One word...," he hissed again._

_"Leave her be, Wigbald," Hefric, another friend, called him back. "Our end of year trials will be in two weeks. She won't be around anymore afterwards," to emphasize his words Hefric spat in front of her feet._

_Lisswyn only blinked and her gaze shifted to Éomer. When their eyes met he felt ashamed. Again he failed her. Again he did not step to her side, but doing so would have meant to lose face in front of his companions was all he could think drunk as he was. He simply kept quiet and the young men went inside._

_During the days after that inglorious nightly incident Éomer tried to make eye contact with Lisswyn many times, at every meal, every time they accidentally passed each other around the barracks or training fields, but she never looked his way. He figured it was deliberate. Even though his wish to apologize grew excruciatingly, he simply found no chance to act upon it._

_During the week of trial when the results were posted regularly at a wall in the barracks he checked not only his but hers as well. To his facilitation he noticed that she did fairly well. In the end she had finished her first year as the eighth best of her class._

_The whole month of Cermi_ ë _was without training for the lower classes. Many of the recruits travelled home. Apparently so had the little tomboy because she was not around anymore. When the next year of training started, she was back again. Both of them returned to their former routine of ignoring each other._

_The Edoras horse fair went by and about a week later he found her on his patch of grass again at night. Leaning against the wooden palisade that surrounded the court she sat on the ground, her knees tucked up, her head resting on them. He started to walk up to her to finally speak his apology and congratulation to her passed exams when from a few feet away he noticed that she was crying._

_He slowed his pace and carefully walked over to crouch down in front of her._

_"Why are you crying, Lisswyn?" he whispered._

_A sharp intake of breath showed that he had startled her. Quickly she raised her head, wiped away the tears and looked at him. In the pale moonlight he could see that her right cheek was bruised and swollen. She had a fresh cut in her upper lip and dark marks around her throat._

_"Why don't you leave me alone, prince?" she hissed at him._

_"What happened?" he gasped._

_"Nothing, I was sparring too roughly. Just leave me alone," she hissed again._

_"Sparring is not meant to hurt you like this. Who did this to you?"_

_"I had a disagreement with some other horse breeder's son during the horse fair," she told him briskly._

_"Your temper is really bad," he smirked at her. "I hope you gave him worse?"_

_She simply shrugged so he just said what he had meant to say._

_"I know I treated you very badly in the past and I am sorry for that. I came to apologize. Truly. And to congratulate you on your passed trials."_

_Silence was her only answer and so the prince continued to speak._

_"Usually when I come out here at night I feel miserable, because of those dreams I keep having about my mother's death. The memories haunt me."_

_"Your mother died?"_

_"Yes, shortly after my father was killed almost six years ago. She succumbed to grief I believe."_

_"I am sorry to hear that."_

_First he nodded to her condoling, but then he looked up to meet her eyes again and shook his head. "You do not need to be. It is long in the past and you are the one who is miserable. What is bearing you down?"_

_"Nothing. Just stupid homesickness," she replied short clipped before rising to her feet._

_She had already started to walk away, when he jumped up and grabbed her left wrist with his left hand._

_"Wait."_

_Yelping she forcefully jolted her hand free and made to run away._

_"Please, Lisswyn."_

_Hearing his pleading tone she hesitated, took a step backwards to gain room and waited for him to continue._

_"Homesickness is not stupid."_

_She blinked at him._

_"If you ever feel like you need someone to talk, I will be here."_

_Another blink._

_"I give you my word as a man of honour that I won't tell anybody."_

_"I accept you apology, my lord. Good night."_

_Then she swiftly turned around and rushed back inside._

_Her reaction surprised him and as he watched her fleeing away he realized that he had a soft spot for the tomboy. All he could do was mumble to himself._

_"Éomer. Just Éomer."_

 


	3. Not allowed

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever and I am not a native speaker, please, keep that in mind before grilling me.
> 
> I follow Tolkien timeline most of the time, with some scenes explicitly taken from the Jackson movies but I also chose to alter some things for the purpose of this story, which most of you will undoubtedly discover.
> 
> I have done my upmost to ensure my OCs have character and that my main OC is not a Mary Sue. If you find you don't like her, please say why, and not just shout out Mary-Sue!
> 
> This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that maybe upsetting or offensive to readers.
> 
> Special thanks to my amazing writing buddy, the lovely Polly, and her never ending patience with me. I would not have made it this far without you! I hope you will find back to your own writing again soon - I miss your story!
> 
> And also special thanks to the wonderful JJ for being my sounding board in the final stages of writing and answering all my silly questions!
> 
> This is the first part of chapter three. I felt I had to cut it in two or otherwise it would have been more than 14k words...

**! WARNING: Mention of sexual violence in this chapter - nothing explicit!**

* * *

  **Not allowed**

 _"_ _Like anyone would be_  
_I am flattered by your fascination with me_  
_Like any hot-blooded woman_  
_I have simply wanted an object to crave_  
_But you, you're not allowed…" (Alanis Morissette)_

* * *

After a hot night coequal to those at the mouth of the Anduin in the far south of Gondor, the new day is greeted by a red rising sun.

With Théodred and Éomer at the forefront, the three shieldmaidens behind them, and the other thirty riders in rows of three further behind them, the company starts out from the Hornburg in full armour to meet yet another unpleasantly hot day. But unlike the days before, the humidity is distinctly higher.

Lisswyn can smell the rain in the air. Before the end of the day they will have a thunderstorm.

After four hours of quietly riding on the old road connecting the Hornburg with Edoras towards the southeast, the weather starts to change. It is not even midday yet, but on the horizon towards the Entwash dark grey storm clouds already start to hulk up. The air turns stifling.

Under her thick leather armour Lisswyn can feel her tunic damp from her sweating. Biting gnats, horse flies and other unpleasant bugs buzz around her and her stallion. With one of her hands she tries to shoo them away, but to no avail. There are too many.

While riding in a fast trot earlier the pests were unable to follow, but around twenty minutes ago Théodred ordered the company to slow down to a walk to give the horses time to cool down a little and recover strength. The offset is now that the animals constantly whip their tails and shake their necks against the pests.

Feeling for Daeroch who gets bitten a lot more than herself, Lisswyn is about to ask for a change of pace again, when suddenly Théodred speaks up, knocking his head at the heavy storm clouds in front of them, "That does not look too good."

"We won't make it all the way to Edoras before the thunderstorm is upon us. We should seek shelter," Éomer agrees.

"We make for Steyning. The settlement is large enough to shelter thirty-five riders and horses and it even has a tavern where we can eat and spare our supplies."

"Steyning?" Éomer asks surprised by Théodred's order. "That is straight to the East on the verge of Westemnet. It will take us leagues off the road to Edoras."

"I did not intend to go to Edoras," Théodred explains.

"Not?"

"I do not believe I will be welcomed there. From Steyning we head straight to the Entwash and follow the river south to cross it at the Entwade."

"Aye," Éomer acknowledges.

"Let us hurry. If we ride hard we might reach Steyning without getting wet."

~ S ~

They do not. Shortly after starting to cover ground in a modest gallop, the first lightning flashes across the sky followed by growling thunder. About five minutes later the first large rain drops slosh to the ground and soon turn into a heavy downpour.

The raindrops hit Lisswyn's face like needles and the pelting rain makes it impossible to see far. Théodred signals to slow down to a fast trot. Above their heads flashes and thunder bring the sky alive. For quarter of an hour the tempest rages across the sky, before ceasing briefly, the wind turning into a steady breeze but yet with no end to the rain. A low rumble in the distance announces the approach of the next thunderstorm.

It takes almost three quarters of an hour for the riders before they see Steyning three furlongs ahead sitting on a small hill. A warning horn announces the company, but as soon as the settlement's guard recognizes the royal banner he signals again; from one long warning blow to three short welcoming blows. Quickly, some men appear at the gates in the settlement's palisade to help the riders with the horses.

Théodred and Éomer however stay on horseback and the three shieldmaidens group around them to protect from possible unexpected attacks.

"We need shelter for thirty-five horses and riders and possibly some food and a place to stay the night," Théodred demands as a low grumbling bodes the next tempest approaching. A large man, obviously Steyning's major steps forward.

"We can take the horses to the city's stables, my lord. You and your men will find accommodations at the tavern. It is the fourth building on the left."

"Let's go then."

Through the pouring rain the villagers lead the riders to the tavern where the men quickly dismount to check the surrounding. Once more the princes and shieldmaidens stay on their horses waiting.

"All clear, my lord," Théodred's first captain Edgar calls after two minutes. Quickly, the princes and shieldmaidens dismount.

"Merelis, Wilrun, you go in first," Lisswyn commands her companions. As the two women walk into the tavern, Lisswyn stays behind to follow after the two princes.

Inside the tavern it is hot and damp. Fifteen villagers are occupying the public parlour. As they one by one recognize the emblem on Théodred's and Éomer's jerkins, helmets and cloaks a stunned silence falls over the room. The innkeeper is the first to recover.

"How can we be of service, my lords?"

"Two rooms, please, innkeeper, two beds in one and three in the other. And space for thirty riders," Théodred insists, standing up proud, his body raised to full height with a straightened back. "And food and ale, too. My men are hungry."

"Yes, my lord. Let them come in, we have enough space in here and in the sleeping halls down the hallway." Turning from the princes, he shouts to the maid behind the bar. "Ready the two large rooms upstairs, quickly." He then turns back to Théodred and Éomer again who peel their soaked cloaks off.

Taking the cloaks to hang by the fire, the innkeeper offers, "My wife made a tasty stew this morning with potatoes, beet root and goat meat."

"Very well, thank you."

In the meantime the villagers at the tavern have budged up at two tables to the left of a large fire place at the parlour's opposite wall while more than half the riders have entered the tavern. Hearing that they would get warm stew and ale shortly, most of them start to cheer.

Théodred walks over to a large table in the parlour's centre right in front of the fireplace. Éomer and the three shieldmaidens follow, the later to stand guard around the table while the princes will have their meal. Instead of sitting down Théodred pulls a chair back and with a smile on his face signals with his right hand for Lisswyn to take the seat. Baffled, she stares at him.

"We are not in danger in here, Lisswyn. Sit down. Merelis, Wilrun, you too. The three of you will join us for stew and ale."

Eomer, already sitting, jumps up and quickly comes to stand between Merelis and Wilrun, pulling back a chair for each of them with a fine courtly bow and a cheeky grin. Taking off her soaked cloak, Wilrun gratefully smiles at the younger prince and sits down while Merelis plonks herself down on her chair letting her cloak drop back onto the chair-back.

Hesitantly, Lisswyn steps forward and Théodred shifts to stand behind her.

"Let me help you," he says quietly, taking the cloak at her shoulders. Uneasy, Lisswyn relents to his offer and opens the buckle holding the cloak together on her chest. Gently, the crown prince pulls the cloak off her shoulders and hands it to the innkeeper who holds the other shieldmaiden's garments already.

Lisswyn casts an insecure side-glance at Théodred, but the crown prince only smiles at her while waiting for her to sit down. Shyly smiling back at him, Lisswyn finally takes the seat and Théodred pushes her chair up to the table before taking the seat next to her.

The innkeeper's wife already waits with three bowls of steaming stew to serve the three women at the table. A kitchen maid follows with two larger bowls for the princes. As they start to eat, the innkeeper hands out mugs of warm ale and bowls of soup and the men help themselves happily. Soon the tavern resembles a busy beehive again.

In between spoons Théodred looks at the woman to his right. The woman he wishes to call his wife in a few months. His queen. The thought sends a warm swelling feeling to his heart. With good effort he keeps his urge at bay to touch her, place his hand on hers to squeeze it affectionately or simply hold it.

Lisswyn feels the crown prince's eyes on her. Sitting between him and Éomer, she suddenly feels self-conscious and insecure. Single strands of wet hair have come free from her messy braid and hang loosely down. Her soaked breeches stick to her legs, her thick leather armour and riding boots are thoroughly drenched, and her tunic underneath is still damp from the sweating earlier this morning. Hopefully their rooms will be soon ready. The sooner the better for her shieldmaidens; only one of them can take their turn to change while the others stand guard over the princes.

Béma does not answer her prayer. Instead Edgar comes up to their table. "The horses are all taken care of, my lord."

"Good, grab something to eat and drink."

Leaning back on his chair after he finished his stew, Théodred orders another round of ale for the men. Looking at the first shieldmaiden, he notices her unease. Shifting his gaze to Éomer, the crown prince suddenly smiles devilishly.

"Lisswyn, I think you need to show Éomer tomorrow how real warriors ride. I noticed how he slipped a stirrup earlier."

Both Lisswyn and Éomer look at him surprised. The younger prince reacts quickly.

"Really? I've seen better riding from a dog on Brego's back," he shoots back at Théodred mischief sparkling in his eyes.

Merelis and Wilrun chuckle lowly. Lisswyn can't help it and grins, shaking her head to the men's jesting. They used to always do this while still living at the Meduseld together. Théodred loves to stir his younger cousin and Éomer is always eager to give it back.

"Must be hard when one turns old and suffers from loss of vision," Éomer raises the ante.

Théodred peers in closer across the table then starts to grin. "That's a cute beard. How long before you think it'll fill in?"

The heir knows the younger prince's weak spots. His beard is one of them. Éomer will never grow a full stubble like he has himself.

"Done yet?" Éomer growls.

The three women lose the battle to contain their laughter behind their hands and Théodred smiles smugly, pleased he managed to lighten Lisswyn's mood.

Their playful banter is interrupted when the young maiden from earlier returns stepping far too close to Théodred for Lisswyn's comfort. Instictively the first shieldmaiden's hand goes to the knife in a holster strapped around her right upper leg as she watches the girl closely.

"The rooms are ready, my lord," the maid murmurs cowed.

Théodred simply nods his acknowledgement before she hurries away and Lisswyn releases the hold on her weapon waiting for the prince to rise and retire to his room. Instead Théodred leans back on his chair comfortably. Obviously he intends to spend the whole afternoon in the parlour. The first shieldmaiden starts to chew on her lips and fidgets with the hem of her wet tunic coming out from underneath her leather armour. A short moment later the heir's hand reaches over and comes to rest on hers.

"The three of you may go to your room. I think with thirty of my man around me there is no need for your protection."

The touch of his hand is warm, gentle and Lisswyn feels a tingling sensation running up her left arm to her chest.

"Thank you my lord," she quietly answers him before carefully pulling her hand from underneath his and signals with her head for her companions to stand up as well. Swiftly, she scans the room for Edgar who already looks at her. When their eyes lock the first shieldmaiden softly knocks her head in the prince's direction. Edgar signals the changeover of the princes' guard with an almost indistinguishable nod.

~ S ~

"I dare say, the king's son has been rather attentive towards you, Lisswyn," Merelis states with a questioning tone to her voice as soon as they have closed the door to their room behind them.

"He has been polite, like usual," the first shieldmaiden brushes it off with an irritated frown.

"I wouldn't call that polite, rather affectionate…"

"You are seeing things where there are none," Lisswyn reprimands her companion.

"He held the chair for you …"

"As I said, he was being polite…"

"He helped you with your coat…"

Strained by Merelis' recital Lisswyn sighs and shakes her head, but the astute young woman continues nonetheless.

"He touched your hand…"

"And he danced with me at the Hornburg," Lisswyn counters irritably. "So what? Stop it, Merelis. There is nothing." But Lisswyn's head reels with what Merelis suggested as she turns her back on her companions and starts to take off her wet clothes.

Théodred was indeed unusually attentive and in a way affectionate towards her. Their conversation from the last night comes to Lisswyn's mind. He had proposed that she should consider marrying one of the men she is comfortable dancing with narrowing it down to him and Éomer to choose from. Could there be something to it?

A small smile creeps to her face.

Lisswyn shakes her head to get rid of this foolish notion. He said he was only jesting. There was absolutely nothing to it and his behaviour tonight was because of their wet and cold state, nothing more. Relieved Merelis is not probing her anymore, she turns back around and starts to spread her wet clothes in front of the lit fireplace of their room.

The three shieldmaidens spend all afternoon in it, getting clean and warm again. By the time the sun sets the young bar maid brings them a tray with bread, cheese, raw hem, and apples, and a carafe with red wine for supper.

After the three women are done sharing their meal, Lisswyn takes the tray back downstairs discretely checking on the princes in the parlour. They look comfortable and obviously enjoy the time with Théodred's men. Quickly, Lisswyn exchanges one last look with Edgar making sure he will stay in charge of Théodred's protection before she joins her friends who already crawled into their beds.

From downstairs Lisswyn can hear the rumbling around of the men and it is only after another hour that the heavy footsteps of Théodred and Éomer can be heard coming up the stairs and enter the room next to them. She can hear their muffled talking and laughing through the wall. By the sound of it both had a good share of ale and are a little drunk. Sniggering to herself, she recalls the many happy nights she and some other riders spent with the two princes in the great hall of the Meduseld two years ago.

Soon the noise dies down signifying the princes' retirement yet sleep does not come to the first shieldmaiden.

The deep breathing of her friends sleeping reminds Lisswyn of her years as a trainee at Edoras where the recruits of every class share a large sleeping room. Only the shieldmaidens-to-be had the luxury of sharing a room away from the noisy boys and men. Just like they do now.

Her thoughts drift back to the memories of a day in her second year of training.

_It was a week after the horse fair. A week after she was robbed of her naïve faith in the good of the world and a little more than two weeks after she had been suspended from her training._

_A cut in her upper lip was still healing, her right cheek yet a little swollen and with a purple tone to it and the marks around her neck were also slightly visible. But the worst was that darkness seemed to fill her days. The only creature at Edoras that could give her comfort was her stallion, Daeroch. He was still very young and she spent a lot of her spare time training him._

_On that sunny day at the beginning of Narquelië she felt too weak to do that, but knowing his presence would help her, she went down to the horse enclosure to watch Daeroch graze._

_It did not take long before tears started to well up in her eyes again. The painful memories from a week ago came back rolling over her like a breaking wave and she started to cry silently. Clenching her knees, she buried her head on them shutting out her surroundings._

_The crack of a small stone against a larger boulder jolted her out of her agony. Looking up with puffy eyes and streaks of tears on her face, she saw one of the riders._

_The tall muscular man had stopped in his tracks and Lisswyn instantly felt terror welling up inside her. Hurriedly, she jumped to her feet and tried to back away, but on the incline of the hill her feet kept skidding down. Stumbling backwards, she landed on her bottom._

_"Slow," the man said with a low baritone voice and quickly brought up his hands in a soothing gesture. "Are you hurt?" his expression had changed from surprised to emphatic._

_Only then did Lisswyn recognize him; the crown prince._

_Wiping away the tears, she answered with a raspy voice, "No, my lord."_

_"You look hurt. Why are you crying?"_

_"It is nothing, my lord."_

_"You do not cry over nothing," he stated slightly annoyed by her outright lie and demanded, "What is your name?"_

_"Lisswyn, my lord."_

_Recognition showed on his face. "The shieldmaiden novice who has been suspended?"_

_"Aye, my lord."_

_"You cut Aldor's arm," he stated._

_"Aye, but it was an accident, my lord."_

_"An accident?" his eyebrows shot up showing his disbelief._

_"I threw the knife and it got stuck in his arm."_

_"You threw the knife?" the disbelief grew._

_"Aye, my lord. But I never meant to hurt him."_

_"Then why did you throw it?"_

_"I was angry at it."_

_His reaction surprised her greatly. He laughed, a warm hearty laugh._

_"That sounds like something my cousin could have done."_

_"The prince Éomer?" it was her time to doubt._

_"The very same," Théodred told her still chuckling._

_With an amused smile on his face the heir of Rohan looked at her._

_"Why were you angry with yourself?"_

_"I was supposed to hit a target with the knife but it would never stay stuck. The more I tried the worse it got."_

_His smile widened as his gaze shifted to some point behind her, then back to her._

_"Come," he said knocking his head into the direction he had been looking._

_Lisswyn hesitated, but when the prince stopped after three steps to emphasize his order with another knock of his head she followed. Even as a suspended trainee she would not dare disobey a Marshal of the Riddermark._

_When she turned to follow him she saw that he was heading for a tree a couple of yards away. A short distance from the tree he stopped and pulled out a knife from his boot, spun it in his hands and presented it to her with the hilt pointing her direction._

_"Show me how you throw it."_

_Lisswyn took her position carefully, concentrating on what she wanted to do and recalling everything Aldor had told her about knife throwing. With a loud thud the knife hit the tree by the hilt and dropped to the ground._

_The prince silently walked past her up to the tree and fetched his knife before coming back to stand next to her._

_"You throw too much with your wrist and too little with your arm." With one swift move he threw the knife and it stuck in the tree's bark with a loud thud. "See?"_

_Lisswyn nodded and the prince retrieved his knife again. Handing it back to her, he ordered, "Try again."_

_When she had taken her position she suddenly felt his strong large hands on her. Lisswyn almost dropped the knife, but his hands only corrected her posture with soft gentle touches to her shoulder, arm, elbow, and wrist. Nothing improper nor aggressive._

_Strangely enough after what had happened only days before it did not feel as if her personal space had been violated._

_"Use your arm, not your wrist," the prince reminded her._

_But her throw ended on the ground again. Lisswyn's face contorted in frustration and anger. When her next throw ended in the same way, anger started to burn in her guts. The prince looked at her._

_"Yell."_

_Lisswyn blinked at him and he smirked back, "The next time your throw fails, I want you to yell."_

_Puzzled by his order, Lisswyn aimed at the tree again, but the knife ended in the grass. Anger burned in her veins._

_"Yell," Théodred told her again._

_"Why?" she demanded almost bellowing. But the prince remained calm._

_"To let your anger out."_

_After her next throw she cursed almost whispering, "s'blood" but shortly after found the knife handed to her again._

_Another try, another miss. This time Lisswyn cursed a little louder. The third time it was a clearly audible malison._

_"Good," Théodred commented and upon her disbelieving glance added shrugging his shoulders, "You almost yelled."_

_Lisswyn's eyes narrowed._

_"Béma, you know how to glare," he teased her grinning._

_When her next try again did not stick in the trees bark, her fury made her roar like a wounded dog ready to attack. This time the prince did not react. Instead he looked deep in thought. Lisswyn went to the tree to fetch the knife herself. It was another two throws later both ending with the knife in the grass, that the prince let out a deep sigh._

_Lisswyn brought all her courage together to address him, "I am sorry, my lord. Perhaps you should not waste your time on me, it's hopeless."_

_He looked at her; his eyes had turned somewhat cold as had his voice. "It is me who decides whether I waste my time or not. Try again."_

_It took her several more tries, her anger slowly turning into frustration and then defeat when all of a sudden the knife stuck in the tree's bark. Her eyes widened in surprise. Théodred only smiled at her._

_The next two throws ended on the ground again, but then she managed to imbed the knife into the tree twice._

_"I believe that now you have the knack of it," the prince said, gently smiling at her. "Practice some more." Then he turned away to leave her._

_"But, don't you need your knife, my lord?" Lisswyn called after him._

_Walking away and not bothering about turning around, he answered, "I have another one on me, Lisswyn."_

_In that moment she made up her mind. When she had been suspended from training Aldor had told her to carefully think about whether she wanted to continue her training with all the hardships it would bring along and most of all the need for her to learn control her temper or rather go back to her family._

_Now she knew that she would stay and do whatever necessary to become a shieldmaiden to one day be able to pay the prince back what he had just done for her. She would become one of the few women who protected Rohan's king._

Smiling, Lisswyn gets out of her bed in the tavern and roams around in her saddle bag until her fingers feel the abrasive surface of the knife's hilt made of horn.

~ S ~

The next day is a greyish mess of bulky clouds, constant driving rain and heavy gusts. The temperatures have dropped significantly by at least twelve degrees. Despite the bad weather the thirty-five riders continue on their way to the East. Around noon Lisswyn feels the rain coming through her cloak and entering her armour. Half an hour later her tunic underneath is soaked and she starts to shiver. Glancing sideways at Merelis and Wilrun, she can see that they feel miserable as well. But they have to endure another two hours before Théodred points to a large barn fifty yards off the road.

"We make rest for the remainder of the day there."

"Let us hope it's not stocked with freshly cut hay and there's room for us all," Éomer tells his older cousin.

To their surprise they find the old barn completely empty. While some of the riders investigate the building and its surroundings, making sure it is safe for the heir of Rohan, Théodred, Éomer, and the shieldmaidens wait outside in the pouring rain.

"Looks like it has been abandoned a while ago," Edgar tells the princes after a thorough inspection.

The barn has a large overhanging roof and the riders rack up their horses underneath it. Quickly, the princes and shieldmaidens do the same before entering the large wooden building.

Lisswyn can feel her body shiver from the cold. She desperately wishes to take off her dripping wet clothes and change into her spare apparel, but there is nothing to keep her modesty behind. Leaving her drenched armour and cloak on will be the best option. Hopefully her body will start to warm the wet garbs soon now that they are out of the wind.

Looking around in the barn, she sees Merelis and Wilrun snuggle up with each other. Smiling at her friends, Lisswyn crouches down to join them.

"We will not even be able to dry our clothes tonight," Merelis whines. "With the wind and heavy rain outside any attempts to start a fire will be wrecked immediately and a fire inside…"

"Come here," Lisswyn tells her and gently pulls her into her arms.

They sit like that for a few minutes, shivering, rubbing each other's arms and legs watching the men do the same when suddenly the crown prince crouches down in front of them.

"You should change before you catch a cold."

He is speaking directly to Lisswyn, but his words include her friends as well.

"You do not expect us to strip in front of the men, do you?" the first shieldmaiden defiantly asks him.

"Of course not." Standing up he raises his voice to a shout. "Éorlingas, we gather outside for a moment." The soft murmuring that just seconds ago filled the barn dies immediately as most of the men turn towards the opened door and follow the crown prince who has swiftly walked outside. Only a few hesitate unsure whether it was a command or a joke.

Éomer understands his cousin's intention. Waiting for the men to leave the barn, he slowly walks over to the door.

"Riders, you heard your commander. Out with you," he orders them sharply. Before leaving the barn as the last he turns around and looks towards the women. Lisswyn has already started taking off her leather armour. Her wet tunic underneath is clinging to her body emphasizing her shape, her slender midriff and her breasts.

Small but plucky enough to fit in the palms of his hands… Éomer blushes violently. Grateful for the dim light in the barn, he shakes his head clear and walks outside, closing the door behind him. The fresh air on his face is cooling, but doesn't ease the arousal in his groin.

His cousin's voice pulls him out of his predicament. "Is something wrong, Éomer?"

"No, I… I just feel cold is all."

Théodred's strong right hand comes up roughing his hair like he used to do when Éomer was still a young teenager. "We all do, shaggy dog."

Brushing off his cousin's hand, Éomer gives the crown prince an irritated glare. Théodred grins at him smugly.

~ S ~

Inside the barn the three women look at each other, puzzled by what Théodred has just done.

"Seems like someone is caring a lot about you, Lisswyn," Merelis states teasingly.

"Let's get changed, we don't want them have to wait outside in this weather for too long," the first shieldmaiden replies, ignoring her friend's comment.

Five minutes later Lisswyn opens the barn's door to let the men back inside. A warm smile on Théodred's face greets her.

"Thank you for the opportunity to change, my lord."

As she steps back to let him pass he takes her hand and kisses the back of it. "I could not watch you any longer tremble like a leaf."

He steps away from her walking backwards back into the barn, holding her astonished gaze and smiling at her flushed cheeks. Seeing him like that, Lisswyn cannot help it and smiles back at him.

An army of butterflies somersault in her stomach and she inhales deeply to control the tremble rushing through her body. Théodred's behaviour is… enchanting, but at the same time so very unusual. Wondering again if there is more to it, Lisswyn returns to where Merelis and Wilrun have started eating from their food rations and joins them.

"Do you still maintain that I am seeing things where there are none?" Merelis teasingly asks her as she joins them in the corner of the barn.

"What do you mean?" Lisswyn asks back pulling her food ration from one of her saddlebags.

"Théodred," Merelis states the obvious and points with a carrot towards the barn's door where the prince just a minute ago kissed the back of Lisswyn's hand. "Now don't tell me his behaviour is not unusual."

"What are you out for, Merelis?" Lisswyn looks at her companion and then around herself. All the riders are far enough away to not be able to listen.

"I think he likes you, Lisswyn. It looks like he has started courting you," with her eyebrows raised Merelis bites into the carrot.

"You are a romantic fool, Merelis," Wilrun interrupts her. "Théodred would never court a commoner like me or Lisswyn."

Still chewing, Merelis counters, "Why not if he likes her enough to give it a try?"

"Because that is not how things are. Women like Lisswyn or me who are born common will never marry into a higher status than what we are." Wilrun is one year older than Lisswyn and Merelis, but in the way she speaks now lies the weight of wisdom only a much older woman could hold.

Shrugging her shoulders, Wilrun continues all the while unwrapping a small loaf of bread, "As shieldmaidens we might find a rider who will marry us, but never a noble and certainly not a prince much less the heir of Rohan."

"It happened before…" Merelis objects.

"The king's mother?" Wilrun asks. With one eyebrow pulled up she looks at Merelis before she breaks her bread into three parts and continues. "She was a noble woman from Gondor who entered the shieldmaiden corps to escape the strict protocol at court. That's something different."

But Merelis is not done objecting, "My cousin married a noble man."

Handing Merelis and Lisswyn one piece of bread each Wilrun replies. "You and your cousin are merchants' daughters, Merelis. You are higher in birth status than Lisswyn and me."

The sentence stings in Lisswyn's chest, but Wilrun seems unfazed by the truth. "Of course one of the lower nobles could marry you. But even for you the prince is out of reach. Don't be so foolish to think otherwise."

There is truth to Wilrun's words, Lisswyn quietly admits to herself then speaks up as well.

"Wilrun is right, Merelis. Théodred courted at least two noble women before. I was his guard during one of the courtships. They are different than we are, better suited for a life at court. They know how to hold themselves, how to talk or properly eat with cutlery…And besides, Theódred said that he is not courting me."

"He said that?" Merelis stopped mid-bite and gaped at Lisswyn.

"Not directly," Lisswyn tilts her head slightly relenting. "When we were dancing at the Hornburg he was jesting about me having to choose between him and Éomer for marriage. But it was a joke." She shrugs her shoulders, "That's what he said, he was jesting. There is nothing to his behaviour."

The new information is like fuel on Merelis suspicions. "There definitely is something to his behaviour. If it is not a courtship then there is only one more option."

Lisswyn's eye widen as understanding dawns on her. Suddenly her face hardens as she clenches her jaw. "Well, if that is what he is after, then it is not going to happen. I will. Not. Be. His mistress."

"Will you have a choice?" Merelis asks her doubtfully. "Couldn't he dismiss you from his guard if you refuse?"

Sickness rises in Lisswyn's stomach at this possibility and her eyes dart over to Théodred. He is much broader than most of his men, handsome in a way, and the smug smile he displayed earlier she would even describe as… sweet.

When Théodred teases Éomer like he did yesterday in the parlour, just as her older brother does with her younger a lot of times, it is as if the princes are real brothers. She knows how Éomer looks up to Théodred, admires him and loves him. To see how the older almost dotes on the younger is endearing… And then there are his hands and forearms, big and strong, with the veins showing on the hard muscles, yet gentle when they touched her… But no. Sharing his bed for his delight? The haunting memory from her second year of training torments her mind again. Forcefully Lisswyn chases it away. She cannot let this happen. She has to find a way to not let this happen.

Turning back around, she looks at her friends' grave faces. "I'd rather take the dismissal than be his mistress," she murmurs with a coarse voice. There is no doubt about her words in her friend's faces. With a dampened mood the three women devote themselves to their food again.

~ S ~

The rest of the afternoon is spent caring for the horses that are wet and cold as well, with eating and drinking and idle conversations. Some men are playing with dice or cards.

Éomer sits cross-legged on the ground of the old barn, with his half-finished food ration in front of him still chewing on something when Théodred slumps down next to him.

"Warm again?" he looks at his younger cousin gently.

"Aye," Éomer nods wrapping up the remains of his meal.

"So how is living back at Aldburg for you?"

"It's strange to be in these old rooms again. Everything reminds me of mother and father, but it does not feel like being home, really," the younger prince confesses, shrugging his shoulders.

"It will grow in to a home once you have a family of your own," Théodred offers to comfort, but Éomer only sighs.

"I have family, just not at Aldburg."

When Théodred frowns over his answer he continues to elaborate.

"I miss Éowyn. I… I fear for her safety."

"Why?"

"Lisswyn said Gríma's eyes linger on her…"

"She is a shieldmaiden. She knows how to take care of herself."

"She is my little sister and we both know that she is not really a fighter, unlike Lisswyn or Wilrun."

"Aye, I know…," Théodreds recalls how he, Aldor, Háma, and Lisswyn had gathered at the king's study in the Meduseld three years ago.

_"She will not pass the tests tomorrow," Aldor said flatly. "We need to think of a way to spare her the embarrassment."_

_"You are sure she will not pass?" the king asked doubtfully._

_"Absolutely, my lord. It is not that she does not have the right spirit and will for it. She is just… not strong enough to stand in the swordplay or shoot an arrow with enough force to hit the targets."_

_"We will not be able to talk her out of trying, I am afraid," Théodred sighed._

_"My lord, am I allowed to make a suggestion?" the first shieldmaiden suddenly asked._

_"Of course, Lisswyn. That is why you were called to this meeting," the king said._

_"Éowyn is the only shieldmaiden-novice to take her exams this year. Why not lower the requirements and let her pass?"_

_"Because she does not meet the standards to rightfully swear her into the corps," Théodred quickly rejected her idea. "She will be a liability and a danger to everyone around her."_

_"I think all she needs is more time and more training. She will make a good shieldmaiden one day, just not yet. Give her that time," Lisswyn argued back peacefully._

_"And put everyone around her in danger?" Aldor entered the discussion calmly._

_"She will be a burden," the crown prince added blurting out._

_"With all due respect, my lord," Lisswyn's voice had turned hard. "It will not be yours to bear, but mine and I don't see the problem. I can assign her to easy tasks and put her into training more often than the others…"_

_"Easy tasks? Like what?" Théodred snapped again._

_"Guard the king at the Meduseld, go as second guard on a ride to Aldburg… patrols that are unlikely to encounter any dangers…"_

_Drawing in a deep breath, Théodred prepared himself for another heated reply when the king's left hand suddenly grabbed him by the shoulder to shut him quiet._

_"If the first shieldmaiden is willing to bear the burden and gives me her word that she will not expose Éowyn to dangers she is not ready for as shieldmaiden or cause harm for others I have no objections to lower the requirements for my niece," Théoden said calmly._

_Straightening her back, the first shieldmaiden looked the king in the eye._

_"I give you my word, my lord, that Éowyn will neither face harm nor cause any for others, rider or shieldmaiden, as long as you do not deem her ready for it."_

_"Good. Let her pass the trials, Aldor," the king ordered the chief teacher and looked for confirmation of his order at the doorkeeper. A short nod of Háma's and Aldor's heads signalled their consent._

_"You are dismissed," the king told them and Lisswyn, but held his son back, "Théodred. Wait a moment."_

_When the others had stepped outside and closed the door behind them he spoke again. "We will watch how Éowyn progresses and if she does not meet the standards in a year, we will think of a way to talk her out of the corps."_

_"Yes, father."_

_Théodred followed the others outside and found the first shieldmaiden waiting for his orders a few steps away from the study's door._

_"I hope you know how much responsibility you just put on your shoulders?" he asked her._

_"If I argued against you too harshly, I apologise, my lord," she said. "I did not mean to upset you."_

_"I am not upset, Lisswyn. I just do not agree with you..."_

_His father had never brought up the topic again and Éowyn had kept her position as shieldmaiden until now._

Looking back up, Théodred finds his cousin staring at the ground in front of him brooding.

"When we have returned to the Hornburg you may go to Edoras for a couple of days to see how she fares. And my father."

"Thank you."

"Report to me afterwards."

"Aye."

The princes fall silent for a moment again. Wishing to lighten his younger cousin's mood, Théodred nudges him in the side.

"Missed me, too?" he teases him with mirth and gets a cheesy smile for an answer.

"Never!" Éomer puffs with played scorn.

Théodred clicks his tongue, "Thought I did better as a big brother for you than not to be even missed."

The two men share a short low laugh before Éomer answers him.

"You did quite alright as big brother."

Théodred grins at him devilishly. "So you do miss me!"

"I admit to nothing."

Swiftly, Théodred pulls his strong right arm around Éomer's neck and gets him into a headlock, rubbing the top of his head with the knuckles from his left fist.

"Never show weakness, huh?" he asks him through ground teeth.

Éomer's hands shoot up, pulling at Théodred's muscled forearm, but his cousin only tightens further. After a moment of struggling Éomer knocks his left elbow into Théodred's ribcage. It's not hard enough to be painful, but the distraction is enough for the younger prince to untangle himself from Théodred's vice-like grip around his neck.

"Stop it. Béma. I'm not fourteen anymore," he rails indignantly and pushes the crown prince away, but Théodred simply laughs at him. A warm, full laugh coming straight from his heart as he playfully shoves Éomer's shoulder once more.

For the first time in many weeks the two princes get to share an afternoon together like they did when Éomer was still a youth.

~ S ~

As the afternoon drags on and turns into evening the rain subsides slightly, but the sky is not clearing at all.

The night is awfully cold and noisy. With thirty-two men rustling and rolling on their bedrolls, some snoring or coughing, Lisswyn barely gets any sleep. Lying on her bedroll in dry clothes and with a spare cloak as a blanket across her legs, she looks out through the slightly opened door into the dark and thus fails to notice that she is not the only one desperately hoping for some sleep.

Only few feet away from her Théodred lies on his bedroll and stares at her silhouette wishing he would already be allowed to hold the woman in his arms at night. His mind travels back in time to when he had talked to her for the very first time.

_He had reached a turning point in his life. For more than a year he had been courting one of the young noble ladies of Edoras. To drag it out any longer would have been highly disrespectful towards her. She deserved to either become his betrothed or be set free again._

_His father had already told him that he expected a decision within the next days and that he would rather see him married. But something made Théodred hesitate._

_On this sunny autumn day a week after the horse fair he took a walk along the horse corrals to hopefully make up his mind on the matter. Watching the horses graze, he tried to pinpoint why he was not wholeheartedly with the woman he courted, when he suddenly came upon a girl sitting in the grass._

_Her shoulders were shaking violently and everything about her posture spoke of great pain and agony. Not wishing to frighten her, he kicked a small stone against a larger boulder. Her head shot up and showed a face contorted in pain and fear. Panic-fuelled, she tried to get away but only landed on her backside, so he raised his hands in a calming gesture._

_"Slow," he bade her gently._

_To his surprise he learned that she was the young shieldmaiden-novice who had been suspended because she had injured Aldor. Something in the way she stood there before him made him feel sympathy for her and he took the time to help her with her knife-throwing problems._

_She was terrible at it, but really determined to learn. Unfortunately her anger at every missed attempt prevented her from getting better. After yet another bad throw that would not stick in a tree's bark he told her to yell. At first she did not believe he meant what he said, but then she relented._

_"S'blood" she cursed loudly making him smile to himself._

_"Good," Théodred commented and upon her disbelieving glance added, "You almost yelled."_

_Lisswyn's eyes narrowed and he could see the strong personality that slumbered inside of her well hidden by a self-conscious, insecure teenager._

_"Béma, you know how to glare," he teased her._

_In that moment he knew the answer to his earlier musings._

_This young woman in front of him opened his eyes; her struggles with throwing a knife properly, her issues with a bad temper which got her suspended from training, her desperate wish to fit into the corps of riders in contrast to her sticking out as a girl from the Wold, her lot as the target of constant fun making by the rude young men who trained with her to become a rider. Suddenly it all comes clear._

_He could relate to her troubles, but not to those of the woman he courted._

_Certainly, the young noble was a beauty and raised to fit the expectations of his father's court perfectly. She knew how to dress herself, how to gracefully hold herself at a dinner table or during a reception. She knew when and how to comment in a conversation between men, but the things she said, the things that occupied her mind were trivial to him._

_She would never understand the troubles he would face in the future as the king of Rohan. She would never know what it meant to lead men who were taught to never show fear or pain or hesitation when in battle. Who were taught to follow orders and who were looking for their king to make the right decisions. She could not relate to this just as he could not relate to her worries about the right colour of her dress, which other court lady she should invite for tea the next day or if she should order lamb or calf to be served at dinner._

_She would be a beautiful trinket on his arm and certainly a pleasure to take to his bed, but she would never join him on a ride out on the plains just for fun or compete against him in a friendly competition and she would definitely never be a partner. Not in the sense his grandmother had taught him._

_His grandparent's had been real life-mates. They had understood each other's troubles, they could rely on each other's views and advice. A relationship like theirs was what Théodred wished for himself._

_He knew little of his parent's marriage, since his mother died at his birth. His grandmother had raised him and after his grandfather's death had been one of his father's greatest advisors until her death two years ago. When Théodred started courting a woman for the first time, all she said was: "When you marry, make sure her love for you is like the lamp in the window that guides you home through the darkest night."_

_The women he courted at this point was clearly not this woman. His decision was made. He would call the courtship off._

_Théodred let out a deep sigh and the young woman at his side suddenly addressed him, "I am sorry, my lord. Perhaps you should not waste your time on me, it's hopeless."_

_Looking at her surprised by her soft voice, he coldly replied: "It is me who decides whether I waste my time or not. Try again."_

_The rejection was not meant for her, but for the woman whom he would have to hurt later that day after he had wasted a whole year of their lives. But he had already hardened his heart for the unpleasant task._

How could he know that he would find the woman he was looking for years later in the teenage girl who stood before him just then?

At the last thought Théodred's ache for Lisswyn at his side grows even more and he forces himself to turn the other way to find some sleep.

 


	4. When the rain is pouring down

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever and I am not a native speaker, please, keep that in mind before grilling me.
> 
> I follow Tolkien timeline most of the time, with some scenes explicitly taken from the Jackson movies but I also chose to alter some things for the purpose of this story, which most of you will undoubtedly discover.
> 
> Yes, I changed the location of Aldburg… I never understood why the Marshal tasked to watch over East Emnet would reside in the Folde – a day's ride away from his territory… so I moved the city to the shores of the Entwash… please, don't bite me ;-)
> 
> I have done my upmost to ensure my OCs have character and that my main OC is not a Mary Sue. If you find you don't like her, please say why, and not just shout out Mary-Sue!
> 
> This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that maybe upsetting or offensive to readers.
> 
> Thank you so much to my amazing writing buddy, the lovely Polly, and her never ending patience with me. I would not have made it this far without you! I hope you find back to your own writing soon - I miss your story. Thank you so much to the wonderful JJ for being my sounding board in the final stages of writing and answering all my silly questions!
> 
> A great thank you to Liz and Scribe of the Fanciful for being my final betas, giving my story the finishing touch and erasing my terrible comma faults.
> 
> This is part two of chapter three - officially chapter four now. A lot shorter than the others, but I hope you will enjoy it nonetheless.

* * *

  **When the rain is pouring down**

 _"When the rain is pouring down_  
_And my heart is hurting_  
_You will always be around_  
_This I know for certain"_ (Alicia Keys)

* * *

The next morning the rain has ceased, but a hard wind sweeps across the land, chasing grey clouds across the sky. Hoping for the best and not wishing to get any colder, Lisswyn stays in her dry clothes instead of changing back into her damp breeches and tunic from the day before.

It's a mistake, she realizes about three hours later, when the riders speed across the vast plains of Westemnet straight towards the large s-shaped river bends of the Entwash. Heavy raining sets in again. It will be three more hours until they reach the banks of the West Bend. From there it will take another hour to the Entwade at the East Bend and there are no settlements ahead on their way.

Lisswyn silently swears at her poor judgement. She can already feel how wind and water drain her body of heat, and she has no idea when or where Théodred plans to make rest again. Due to the downpour their travelling speed is reduced to a slow trot again, and Lisswyn sighs resignedly.

After two hours of riding through the rain across the plains, the shadows of a wood come into sight on the horizon. The crown prince changes the direction of his horse slightly and heads for the trees in the distance. A mile before they reach the forest, Théodred slows down to a walk for the horses to cool down.

On the north fringe of the wood they find a small storage barn that looks in good shape. Certainly a shepherd's summer camp, because it is half stocked with basic kitchen goods, some vegetables, grain, and dry logs for fire making.

"Not much space, but at least we can all sit under a roof," Éomer comments on their dwelling for the coming night.

When Lisswyn dismounts her stallion she feels stiff and a sudden rush of cold makes her body shiver violently. Théodred notices and steps to her side.

"You need to get out of your clothes."

Lisswyn tenses up, fearing the worst, "My lord?"

"Into dry ones."

The tension leaves her, "Oh," she stammers in relief, "I have nothing dry anymore," she tells him, dread in her voice.

"You did not change into yesterday's clothes this morning?" he asks her incredulously.

Feeling like a scolded child, she shakes her head, "I thought the weather would hold."

Worry shows in his eyes as he looks at her emphatically.

"'It was a bad judgement on my own part. I will endure it," she says lightly and shrugs her shoulders before she leads Daeroch away to be racked up at a tree.

Théodred watches her leave, once more regretting that he is not allowed yet to pull her into his arms to keep her warm and close.

The night feels even colder and noisier than the one before. Inside the half-stocked barn, Lisswyn leans against a wooden box filled with spring potatoes. She is staring through the open door when another gush of cold air rushes over her already frozen body, and she shakes violently. A brief moment later a dark green woollen cloak is draped around her shoulders.

Turning around, she sees Éomer's silhouette hunkered down at her side. It is too dark to see his face properly, but she can tell his warm brown eyes rest on her face.

"Take my cloak to keep at least a little warm."

"But aren't you going to be cold then?"

"Not as cold as you are."

"Thank you," she whispers, unable to actually produce a sound with her voice.

Gently, he squeezes her left shoulder, "Do you mind if I keep you company?"

"Of course not."

For a while they silently sit side by side. Almost everyone seems to have fallen asleep, leaning against the barn's storing goods.

Suddenly Éomer whispers to her again, "What do you see when you look out there?"

"Nothing, it is dark."

"That is not what I meant." The sound of his voice tells her that he is smiling with amusement, but quickly his voice turns sober again. "Is it your home? The plains?"

"Edoras is my home. Or… Helm's Deep now."

"It is not. I can tell by the way you always look out into the distance on your nightly walks before you go to sleep."

A silent puff escapes her nose. He really seems to know her by heart, just as Aldor said. For a moment they fall silent again, but then Éomer chuckles lowly.

"What's so funny?" Lisswyn turns her head to look at him, but can only barely make out his profile in the dark.

"I remembered how we sat like this on the stairs of the recruits' barracks the night after my final trials…"

Now Lisswyn chuckles, too, "You were beyond drunk!"

His head turns towards her, "But I walked you home, like I had promised."

"Aye. You did."

"It was an eventful day" he continues, looking back straight ahead, "I was so nervous in the morning before the trials started."

"Why? You were the best recruit in your class. Everybody expected you to pass the tests easily and with high scores." Lisswyn can see him nod slowly.

"I think that was the problem," he turns to face her again. "Everybody had such high expectations, including myself. I wanted to do better than my Uncle had done and of course I wanted to do better than Théodred. It didn't help both of them came to watch, too."

"Not only them," Lisswyn chuckles lowly, "The girl you were after at the time came with some of her friends as well."

A deep sigh escapes the Marshal's lips, "Estmund, yes I remember…" his voice is only a whisper.

"You were quite a skirt chaser in your youth," Lisswyn sniggers with mirth, "and the girls were following you like wasps would follow a jar of honey. Although I still don't understand why. You were such a beanpole…" the last words she emphasizes with amusement.

With his right elbow Éomer softly kicks her in the side.

"What? You were tall and nothing but bones…" she objects playfully.

"I am charming and handsome," Éomer replies with playful indignation and receives a warm chuckle from his friend.

"Definitely," the first shieldmaiden laughs. "You really made a show of impressing Estmund on your final tests."

The prince is silent for a moment before he admits soberly, "Actually, I didn't really care about her presence there, but I was happy you came."

"You were?" Lisswyn is thoroughly astound.

"Aye."

Although the shieldmaiden cannot see how he grins at her, she can tell that he is by the sound of his voice.

"Even though I had to argue hard to convince you to stay and support me from the crowd," he finishes his sentence still with amusement in his voice.

"I had planned to just give you the lucky tassel I made for you and then spend the day with Daeroch…," Lisswyn explains, but Éomer keeps up the jesting.

"I know. I couldn't take it that you put your horse over my trials."

They both share a laugh before Lisswyn turns serious again.

"Honestly, why did you wish me to stay and watch you?"

"You gave me confidence," he shrugs his shoulders. "That's all."

"Do you still have it?"

"The lucky tassel?"

"Aye."

He sighs again, "Honestly?"

"You threw it away?" she covers her slight disappointment with a smile while speaking.

"No!" he objects fiercely before admitting contritely, "But I must have lost it somewhere…"

"Good, it was pretty ugly," Lisswyn tells him with mirth.

"Aye… it was."

They share another laugh.

"It was the first lucky tassel I made all by myself."

"I could tell," the prince teases her again.

"You said it was nice," she counters with played indignant spite.

"I didn't want to hurt your feelings," he explains with amusement in his voice, but Lisswyn cuts him short with a smile.

"Just don't make a fuss about it now."

"Don't worry, I won't. It was a good day, though."

"Aye."

"I'm glad you came with me and the others down to the tavern to celebrate in the evening."

Now Lisswyn sighs, "Talked me into this as well…"

"I wanted you to celebrate with me."

"Why? Estmund was with you… and you were clinging to her lips and her breasts the whole night…" she emphasizes raising her hands as if grabbing two voluminous breasts.

"I did not," Éomer protests, "I looked over to where you were a couple of times to make sure you had fun, too"

His attempt to defend himself causes Lisswyn to laugh again. "I hold it to your credit that you abandoned her without hesitation when I wanted to go back to the barracks."

"I will always stay true to my promises, tomboy."

"Don't call me tomboy," her voice holds chagrin now.

"You called me beanpole!"

"Yeah, yeah…"

"Just admit that I don't look like a beanpole anymore and I will cease calling you tomboy."

"Fine, you don't look like a beanpole anymore," she tells him condescendingly, remembering how good his muscled chest, strong arms and broad shoulders had felt against her body when they grappled three days ago.

"That must have been hard for you," he mocks her and she answers him the same way.

"Unlike you, I know when to admit that I am wrong."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing," she puffs shaking her head.

"Lisswyn?"

"I'm just teasing you, Éomer," she smirks.

"If you say so…fire-head."

The shieldmaiden shakes her head smiling to herself, but remains quiet. After a while Éomer whispers again.

"I'm worried for Éowyn. What you told me about Gríma…"

"She will be alright, Éomer," she tries to calm him with a soft voice. "She is a shieldmaiden after all…"

"Still, I will go to Edoras after we return to the Hornburg to see how she fares. She is not the best of fighters as you know."

"Her skills have improved a lot since her first year after being sworn in."

"She complained to me once because you assign her to training a lot more than the others," he sniggers close to her left ear.

"I had to, I gave your Uncle my word."

"Your word?"

"To make sure she will not have to face any dangers until she meets the shieldmaiden requirements."

"What are you talking about? She passed her trials!"

Dread fills Lisswyn's heart. She had sworn to herself not to tell anyone who hadn't been present at the meeting three years ago. Inhaling deeply she murmurs very lowly, "Yes, but the king lowered the standards for her on this day, she would not have made it otherwise. But don't tell her."

A moment of silence spreads between them while Éomer tries to wrap his head around this new information.

"Of course not."

"It's also the reason why I only send her on patrols to Aldburg or Snowbourn, to keep her away from possible dangers."

"And I thought you did it so that I get to see my little sister a little more often."

"It's an added advantage," the first shieldmaiden shrugs.

"Why don't you come, too, some time? It's a nice city. I could show you around. You'll like it."

"Yes, I'd like to, but it depends on where Théodred is…"

"I'll see if I can persuade him to visit Aldburg any time soon."

"We could all stay up at night in front of the fire of your great hall, like we used to do at Meduseld before you became Marshal," Lisswyn suggests sentimentally.

"Aye," Éomer's thoughts go back to those days for a moment, "Speaking of staying up all night… We should try to get some sleep." Softly, he puts his arm around her shoulders and pulls her over so she is leaning against his side. He does not take his arm away immediately. In the darkness of the barn no one beyond a five foot range will notice how he holds her. He likes the feel of her small slender frame at his side and savouring the feeling, he closes his eyes.

Feeling protected with his arm still around her shoulders and leaning against his muscular chest Lisswyn soon slumbers off.

~ S ~

There is no change in the weather overnight and the next morning greets the tired and damp riders with even more rain.

Looking out into the dismal weather, Théodred silently swears about their bad fortune when Éomer comes to his side.

"By your leave, Théodred, we should ride for Aldburg. The weather will not change any time soon and the men and shieldmaidens need to warm up and get dry again."

"We lost a whole day due to this cursed weather already…"

"I know, but riding with half the men sick from cold will not make us any faster in the days to come…"

"You are right," Théodred sees reason in Éomer's words. "We head for Aldburg. Let us ride."

After four hours of trotting across the plains through a steady rain, the company arrives at Aldburg, once again soaked and cold. The king's city of old sits nestled around a motte-and-bailey castle at the banks of the Entwash where the Snowbourn joins it, two hours south of the Entwade.

The heir of Rohan and the Marshal of Aldburg are greeted at the city's gates with three short and two long horn blows. When they enter the old castle's court, two stable boys come running to take care of the princes' horses. Ducking against the rain, Éomer's valet comes to meet them as well.

"Have the king's and queen's chambers prepared for guests and hot baths set up in both of them," Éomer tells him.

"We have noble female guest?" the valet questions, looking surprised.

"Three, but they are Théodred's shieldmaidens. He wishes them as close by as possible."

"I understand, my lord."

"Also order cinnamon rolls for tomorrow's breakfast."

"Cinnamon rolls, my lord? It is not yuletide yet."

A pointed look from the Marshal is all he needs.

"Aye, my, lord, cinnamon rolls for breakfast. Anything else?"

"The heir and I will take a private supper tonight in the king's chamber. No notifications to the local nobles."

"Aye, my lord."

"That'll be all for now."

Looking around, Éomer notices Théodred at Lisswyn's side helping her with her saddlebags. Turning around with the bags in his hands, the crown prince makes for the castle's main door as Lisswyn starts to lead her stallion towards the stables. Quickly Éomer jogs to meet her.

"I will take him to his bay. Go, take Merelis and Wilrun with you to the queen's chamber. I have a hot bath set up for you."

Her round brown eyes look up at him questioningly.

"You have been drenched for three days now. I don't want you to get sick."

"I believe I've heard this before and I am still sound," Lisswyn challenges him, but Éomer does not take the bait.

"Promise me that you will get in first. Your lips are already blue from the cold."

"Yes, my lord," she acknowledges his wish with mocked formality and they smirk at each other before she starts to leave towards the castles entrance hall where Théodred is already waiting with her saddlebags.

~ S ~

A good quarter of an hour later after having seen to Firefoot and Daeroch, Éomer sprints across the castle's court yard, ducking against the rain. In the castle's opened main door he is stopped short by a woman stepping up to him.

"My lord Éomer, it is so good to see you return to Aldburg," the young noble chirps with a honeyed voice. "I heard the king's son is with you, too?"

The tall woman had obviously waited in the castle's entrance hall to intercept him. Her dark brown eyes look at him curiously and her oval face is graced with an artificially wide smile. Everything about her posture and mimic speaks of her wish to appeal.

Feeling wet and cold, Éomer forces himself to remain patient. "Indeed he is, Lady Olfete. News are spreading fast here in Aldburg, I see."

"Oh, I heard the horns of the city's gates and then saw your company with the prince's banner ride by our estate." Olfete shows him yet another of her sugared smiles.

"And you came all the way up to the castle in the pouring rain to confirm this?" Éomer asks politely, but quietly he suspects she came mostly to get a look at Théodred and use the excuse to talk to him again.

"I am a well-behaved lady, my lord. If my father asks me to do something I meet his wishes."

Éomer suppresses a laugh. Well-behaved is not exactly a word he would use for the Count of Snowbourne's daughter. After all, he had come to know her as all too willing to share his bed.

"You may tell him we are on our way to Eastemnet and came to stay the night only."

"Oh?" she sighs as her smile falters slightly. "But surely there is a public supper to celebrate his visit tonight?" Her left hand comes up to play with a flick of her long light brown hair. As usual, she wears it in a fashionable half-updo that accentuates her fine features, Éomer notices.

"I am afraid not. We have pressing matters to discuss and will most probably spend the evening in council."

"I see." With a seductive look, Olfete steps closer and her left hand comes to touch Éomer's damp breastplate, her fingertips softly following an invisible line over his chest as if she is caressing his naked body. "Perhaps you wish for some female company later on, my lord?" she purrs close to his neck.

For a very brief moment he remembers how she shared his bed a couple of times in the past. Not only was she a sight to behold, a beauty sticking out amongst the women at Aldburg, but also a pleasant company, especially at night. However, indulging in the pleasures of clandestine rendezvous with Olfete in the past was obviously not the best decision, he now realizes. He has to find a way to prevent further advances on her side.

Éomer takes a determined step backwards. "I am certain we will be occupied half the night, lady Olfete," he declines her offer with a polite incline of his head. "Now, if you please excuse me, Théodred prince is expecting me."

Without waiting for an answer, he steps past her and heads for the stairs to his left that lead to the upper floors of the castle and the royal wing.

~ S ~

"Those are the reports about the black riders." In the study of the Marshal's chambers Éomer hands Théodred a pile of parchment.

The crown prince has taken a seat in a dark brown leather armchair in front of the fireplace where a warming fire is burning. "Do you know where all the farmers live?"

Rounding the dishevelled desk loaded with parchments, account books, maps and more, Éomer sits down facing his cousin. "Yes. There are some more living a little upcountry we have not questioned yet, but the assertions of all of those living close to our borders are here."

Quickly Théodred scans the first few reports. Seemingly out of nowhere he suddenly changes the topic looking up to meet Éomer's gaze. "You gave the shieldmaidens the queen's chamber?"

"Aye," Leaning back on his chair the Marshal of Aldburg explains, "I thought they could use some comfort to recover from being cold and sodden during the last days. Besides, the rooms are unused for almost sixteen years now…"

"I am not sure the nobles of Aldburg will be pleased if they learn of this," Théodred interrupts him.

Straightening his back, Éomer takes a breath before he forces himself to calmly reply, "I can always argue it was necessary to accommodate them as closely to your room as possible for security reasons. In case they should actually find out and complain."

"Sounds plausible…."

"I also thought we could stay another night. The men have been wet for days. It's not good for morale, and the weather looks to be worsening."

"We already lost two days."

"I know. But what good does it if we are all exhausted and not able to cover enough ground while riding through the rain …?"

Théodred sighs defeated. "Fair enough. We stay one more night. But the day after tomorrow we continue regardless of the weather."

"Aye."

"You may as well call the nobles for a public supper tomorrow night then," Théodred smiles mischievously. A look at Éomer's face tells him that his cousin still detests sitting through long nights for the sake of formality. "It is part of your duty as Marshal to keep them in good spirits for the sake of Rohan, you know?"

"Yes, I know. But do I have to like it?"

"You should at least try to."

"Aye"

Eomer rises and walks towards the door, leaving the prince seated behind the desk. He is about to set off to prepare for the next day when Theodred suddenly speaks up again.

"Éomer, there is something else I wish to talk to you about."

"What is it?" the Marshal of Aldburg turns around. His cousin has stood up to face him.

For a moment Théodred remains silent, pondering on how to approach the subject in the best way. "Erkenbrand is urging me to find myself a wife," he finally speaks up. "With my father growing weaker every day my time to take over may come sooner than I ever wished for. In any case I will need an heir. At the moment you are second in line. Perhaps you should think on this as well. I have waited too long already; you are at the right age."

"I am afraid that there are no maidens at Aldburg who have caught my attention in that way," Éomer exhales, his thoughts briefly travelling to the first shieldmaiden. "Do you have someone in mind?"

At his cousin's question Théodred realizes his heart beating faster. He takes a deep breath to steady himself before he answers. "Yes, you know her quite well. That is why I am discussing this with you."

"You are not thinking about Éowyn?" Éomer asks incredulously.

"No," Théodred laughs out. "I could never marry your sister. She is like a sister to me as well." He chuckles some more about the ridiculousness of the thought before he turns serious again. "I am thinking about Lisswyn."

The crown prince's answer sends a stab through Éomer's heart. 'I don't have any romantic feelings for her,' he reminds himself firmly, a well-used affirmation over the last few years. Yet Théodred's revelation… he feels like something has been stolen from him. Not something. Her. Lisswyn.

He is only one year her senior, not fourteen like Théodred, and they are very close. He likes her, trusts her, feels comfortable around her even when he is wounded or weak. She is not only fierce and determined, but also gentle and kind and funny. She makes him happy in a way no other does. If she will become crown princess, surely this would have to end. He would lose his closest friend…

"You do not approve?" Théodred's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. It sounds insecure, fearful even.

"No, I think she would be a great match," Éomer answers, keeping his awkward emotions for himself. "The Éorlingas surely would approve of a marriage between you and Lisswyn. They respect her, not only the warriors, but the common people as well. They look up to her although she was born a commoner herself," Éomer tries to bring this conversation to a fast and smooth end. "Besides she would not be the first shieldmaiden to become queen. Our grandmother was shieldmaiden, too, before she married our grandfather. So… it would be considered a good and customary match for the heir of Rohan."

"That's what I thought, too. Yet I have to say that…" Théodred trails off for a moment "… she is more to me than that," he almost whispers at the end.

Éomer looks into the crown prince's glazed eyes feeling yet another stab to his heart.

"You love her."

"Yes, I do. For quite a while now."

"When will you start courting her?"

"I already do. I wish to ask her father for his permission to marry her within the next month."

Another stab in Éomer's chest.

"So soon?"

"I do not need this courtship to become certain about her. I know she is the right one. It is only for propriety's sake… and to give her some time."

"Her family lives in the Wold." Éomer's mouth is filled with sand.

"I know. They will come to the horse fair at Edoras in two weeks though. I plan on riding there as soon as we have the reports about those black riders."

"I wish you all the best then," Éomer replies flatly and turns away to leave Théodred.

"Éomer?" the crown prince calls him, "What…?"

Recognizing the hurt in Théodred's voice he turns around to face him again, "Sorry, cousin, there are some things I have to see to. She is a great choice, I can only envy you," he admits hastily, before he thinks better of it and hurries away, leaving the crown prince stunned in silence.

Éomer passes the queen's chamber and the thought of Lisswyn rushes through his head again. He needs to see her. Tonight. He hurries to a great armoire in the hallway and pulls three woollen blankets from the upper shelf then hastes back to the queen's chamber.

Softly, he knocks at the door.

"Who is it?" he hears Lisswyn's voice through the closed door.

"It's me, Éomer. I have some more blankets here for you in case you will need them," he answers in the same way back.

"We are not presentable yet. Please, can you just drop them by the door?"

Slowly bending down to do as she said, he suddenly thinks better of it. Clutching the blankets close to his chest, he straightens up again and leans back against the wall opposite the door. He will wait. He has to see her before going to sleep…

After a few minutes his patient waiting is rewarded. With a soft click, the door opens and her head pokes out. Her strawberry blond hair is still damp from the bath and hangs down in loose strands.

"Éomer?" she asks curiously.

"Is everything alright for you three?" he asks, stepping closer to her and handing her the blankets.

With a grateful smile on her face she takes the blankets, and their hands touch slightly. Feeling her fingers against his, Éomer's heart starts to race. Precariously he searches her face with his eyes but sees only the warm eyes of his close friend smile back at him.

"Yes, we are fine…. We enjoyed the hot bath, it was wonderful. Thank you for being so thoughtful."

Swallowing against the dry feeling in his throat, he only inclines his head.

"I talked to Théodred," his voice sounds throaty. "The weather will not change overnight I am afraid…" Éomer trails off as Wilrun appears in the door. Silently, she looks at him and then Lisswyn a knowing look crossing her face. Just as silently she takes the blankets from the first shieldmaiden and walks back inside, closing the door behind her.

"I convinced him to stay another night at Aldburg for a rest day and the chance for our clothes to dry properly."

"Alright. Thank you."

Silence spreads between them as they take in the sight of the other, both smiling softly. Although everything has been said Éomer wishes to linger. And the same seems to be the case with Lisswyn.

Just before the situation threatens to become absurd, Lisswyn coughs. "Well, I should go back inside…" she explains, slightly amused.

"Yes. Have a good night's rest, Lisswyn."

"You, too, Éomer."

He watches her turn around and walk back inside the queen's chamber. The door has been closed after her for quite some time before he finally finds the strength to move and walk towards the stairs to find his valet and order for a public supper the next evening. He can still feel his heart beating against his ribs.

~ S ~

The constant raining ceases in the course of the evening, with the heavy clouds breaking up now in the middle of the night allowing the moon to cast its light through every now and then. It is still cold and windy outside. Summer has turned into autumn. A small fire in the fireplace of Éomer's bedchamber provides for some warmth, but to the young prince somehow it feels way too hot right now.

He stares at the ceiling of his room. As Marshal of the Riddermark, he has four spacious rooms on the royal third floor of the old wooden castle. A study, a living room, a bed chamber, and a room his parents used as the children's room for him and Éowyn, but tonight the homeliness of his chambers does not comfort him. Instead the walls seem to close in around him, suffocating him.

His mind spins around one thought only: Lisswyn.

Théodred will court her. Surely she will accept his proposal and become his wife within a year's time.

The pain this thought causes in his chest is almost unbearable. Théodred's wife. He and Lisswyn would still be close, of course. They could even stay friends. But would he be content with that? He barely stands the thought of Théodred holding her in his arms, let alone kissing her. His cousin's hands on her skin… Théodred sharing the bed with her...

A sickening feeling settles in Éomer's stomach, bile rises in his throat and his eyes start to sting.

The truth can no longer be denied, 'I love her.'

'I wish to be the one who holds her at night, the one to be able to call her wife, but I cannot. I never will, because Théodred will marry her.'

Théodred, his cousin, his elder, the heir of Rohan. He has every right to ask for her hand before him and he certainly is a gentle man. He will treat her well… and he does seem to truly love her, but still…

Éomer can feel arousal in his groin and his heart beats faster… the image of Lisswyn giving in to his cousin before his inner eyes, the thought of Théodred having her… it makes Éomer feel sick. Panic rises in his chest.

Quickly, the Marshal pushes his bed sheets aside and sits up. His sweaty chest glistens in the cold moonlight. He stands up and walks over to the small window. The cool night wind will help clear his mind. He pulls a simple white linen shirt from the chair by his bed and over his head before leaving his chambers.

On his way out he passes the door that leads to the king's chamber. Knowing his cousin sleeps behind that door, he keeps his eyes fixed to the ground avoiding to be reminded of their earlier conversation.

Next to the King's chamber is the Queen's, where Lisswyn and the other two shieldmaidens are sleeping. His eyes stare at the walls separating him from the women, as if he wishes to burn holes into them to get a glimpse of her. Shaking his head, he quickens his pace and hurries down the steps, past a couple of guards and for the door leading outside.

The chilling night air hits his face and through the thin shirt causes goosebumps on his arms and chest. Grateful for the disturbing sensation, Éomer slowly walks along the parapet walk on the small hill of Aldburg castle. After a couple of minutes he stops to lean against the stone balustrade, looking out over the surrounding city. Having adapted to the cold now, he relishes in the smell of the river below, the dampened lands, and the burning of warming fires in every house around him.

"You are far too young to experience insomnia like an old damsel like myself, my lord," the soft raspy voice of Bledwyn, his old nursing maid, pulls him out of his contentment.

"Bledwyn, what are you doing out here?" Éomer turns towards the old woman.

"My age and my aching back keep me from sleeping. As for you it is an aching heart, I suspect," she replies boldly, the corners of her lips pulled up into a slight smile.

Éomer blinks at her. Questioningly, he tilts his head, unable to find the right words for an answer.

"I know of no other trouble that would send a man out of his bed at this nightly hour."

Again all Éomer can do is blink, stunned at the old woman's wisdom.

"So what is weighing you down? Is she promised to someone already?" Bledwyn asks straight out. She knows that she is crossing a line, and yet she is not willing to leave the young prince alone with his troubles. She has known him and cared for him since he was a child, and she cannot leave now without at least offering some advice.

Éomer senses her good intentions, yet feels that confiding to her would be inappropriate. The baffled and at the same time hurt look on his face is answer enough for his old nanny, however.

"A wise man once said to me that all is fair in war and love. Said man then deliberately crossed the lines of propriety and won a woman's heart, even though that woman was almost betrothed to someone else."

Éomer frowns at her story. Acting in such a way would be inappropriate if the woman was already courted by someone else, especially if that courtship was made public.

"Who was that man?" Éomer asks without thinking.

"Your father, my lord. And it was your mother's heart he won."

Éomer has never heard that story before, but recalls now how his mother had talked about all the efforts his father had made to win her affection and that it had almost led to an affair of honour, although she never said with whom.

"Who was the other man?"

"The Lord of the Hornburg."

"Erkenbrand?" Éomer blurts out surprised and with a knowing smirk Bledwyn answers.

"The very same, my lord."

That explains the old warrior's disdain and loathing towards him during his stay at the Hornburg the last few days. While Éowyn looks like a younger version of their mother, Éomer resembles their father greatly. His presence would have been a painful reminder of the old defeat in this matter of the heart.

Distrust and spite? Coming from Theodred, who Eomer had always idolised? The crown prince has grown to be like an older brother to him ever since Théoden king took him and Éowyn into his household after their parent's early death. He could never openly act against him in such a bold way as his father had done towards Erkenbrand.

A heavy sigh escapes his lips before he turns to face his nursemaid.

"I am afraid that I am not as reckless as my father, Bledwyn."

Sorrow shows in her old eyes and a sharp line appears between her eyebrows before she shakes her head.

"Oh, my sweet little prince. I only hope that your honour is worth that sacrifice. For I fear that your mother's ring may never be worn again…"

 

 


	5. What you do to me

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. I do not own the songs in this chapter either, they are written by Alter Bridge, John Dyer and Don McLean. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This is my first fanfiction ever and I am not a native speaker, please, keep that in mind before grilling me.
> 
> Also, if you happen to like my story (or not), please, leave a review. It helps so much with writing when you know what your readers think about the story, how they like or dislike a character or a plotline, or what they wish to happen in one of the next chapters...
> 
> I have done my upmost to ensure my OCs have character and that my main OC is not a Mary Sue. If you find you don't like her, please say why, and not just shout out Mary-Sue!
> 
> This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that maybe upsetting or offensive to readers.
> 
> I want to say "Thank you" to my writing buddy Polly (I hope you will find time for your own writing again soon) for wonderful moments of brain storming, my sounding board JJ for helping me figure out if everything comes across as it should, and my great beta Scribe of the Fanciful for giving my story the perfect final touch!
> 
> Without you this story would not be published!

* * *

  **What you do to me**

 _„_ _I can't stop this feeling  
Deep inside of me  
Girl, you just don't realize  
What you do to me_ _"_ (Mark James)

* * *

She will not come. It is an old habit of hers to start her off-duty days without breakfast. He had learned this some time after she was sworn in as shieldmaiden.

One day when he met her for a ride out on the plains during the morning, he asked her about it, and Lisswyn simply said she would rather share an apple with her stallion instead. From this day on he started to fetch an apple and some bread or a bun for her from the breakfast buffet at Meduseld if he knew he would meet her before lunch on her free days. Soon the one apple became two because he realised she always gave the whole apple to her stallion.

Another thing he learned about her was that she loved cinnamon rolls.

_It was during the yule festivities in his third year of training and the early days of their friendship when he noticed how she secretly picked one of the cinnamon rolls from the buffet and stuffed it into the pocket of her breeches._

_He snuck up on her from behind and told her she wouldn't have to steal like a thief because the buffet was free for all the riders and recruits who were not going home for yule. She had blushed and pretended not to know what he was talking about, but he simply laughed at her and openly handed her another one with a playful bow of his head._

_She blushed even more and so he whispered: "Don't worry, I won't tell anyone that you have a sweet tooth, tomboy."_

_It was her moment to surprise him then, for she answered with a mischievous smirk. "Good, because then I will keep it for myself how much you loathe sitting at your uncle's table for festive meals and get bored by all the adults talking, beanpole."_

So whenever he had the opportunity to surprise her on an off-duty day with a bun and apples he did so. It was also the main reason he ordered for cinnamon rolls for today's breakfast; to surprise her.

But now they will stay another night and the shieldmaidens have a day off, Éomer is certain Lisswyn will not show up at the morning buffet in the castle's great hall for breakfast. The certainty is gnawing at him. Not giving up his hope she may appear after all, the Marshall sits on his chair, stares out over the hall without focusing and bites on the insides of his cheeks.

A couple of tables away are the three other shieldmaidens, Merelis, Wilrun and Dargífu, deep in an amicable conversation.

Having just finished his breakfast Théodred comes up to them.

"Good morning, shieldmaidens."

Baffled by the crown prince's unexpected approach, they jump to their feet and answer in unison, "Good morning, my lord."

Théodred can't help it and smiles. "Sit down, ladies." After they have taken their seats again he continues, "Where is your captain?"

Merelis is the first to recover from the surprise. "Ah, Lisswyn went straight to the stables, my lord. She said she doesn't need breakfast."

Théodred frowns over the answer then quickly hides his surprise behind his calm commander's façade. "If you see her, tell her I need to speak to her."

"Of course, my lord."

Still puzzled by Merelis' answer, Théodred walks back to where he and Éomer where sitting for their meal earlier.

Leaning in, Dargífu looks at the other shieldmaidens with big questioning eyes, "Is she in trouble?"

With a wide smirk on her face, Merelis leans back, "I would not call it trouble exactly…"

"Then what…?" Dargífu inquires further.

"Well…. I have my suspicions…"

"Merelis, you should not be gossiping like this," Wilrun reprimands her friend. "There is nothing to those suspicions of yours, and if it was otherwise I am sure she would tell us."

"Tell you what?" Dargífu is not willing to let the subject drop.

"Stop it," Wilrun's voice has grown sharp.

"You are right," Merelis consents. "It is nothing, Dargífu." But she cannot refrain from looking over to the Marshal's table where Théodred is now talking to the younger prince again.

"Did you notice Lisswyn did not come for breakfast?" the crown prince asks Éomer, still wondering about the information Merelis has just presented him. "Merelis said she went straight to the stables instead."

"Yes," the Marshal's eyes flick over to his cousin for a split second before staring into the distance again. "She usually skips breakfast on her off-duty days." The answer comes somewhat short clipped and flat. "You didn't know that?"

"No."

"Well, if you are to meet her before lunch you might wish to take a cinnamon roll and two apples with you to give her." The younger prince sounds cold now and as soon as he has finished his sentence he steps past Théodred and leaves.

The gnawing feeling inside has turned into a bubbling anger in Éomer's stomach. Striding towards the hall's door he passes the breakfast buffet and quickly grabs the last cinnamon roll as he walks on by. He can still feel his cousin's eyes on his back. Outside in the entrance hall, he clenches the fist not holding the bun and bites down hard. If his cousin wishes for Lisswyn to become his wife he should damn well figure those things out for himself.

Just as he has finished the thought, another comes to his mind. He did not share this little secret for Théodred's sake, but for Lisswyn's.

Looking to the open door leading outside, he notices the weather has gone back to a steady rain and a heavy wind blowing against the old castle. Gone is the peaceful calmness of last night.

Across the castle's court are the stables; Lisswyn's favourite place. Had Théodred not confessed to him the night before that his heart belongs to the first shieldmaiden that is where Éomer would be heading now, too. Instead the Marshal strides back to his chambers. As he rushes upstairs to his rooms the anger slowly subsides giving way to a feeling of being torn open at his chest: raw, sore, and incurable.

He will be spending his morning holed up in his study pretending to be occupied.

~ S ~

With a determined step, Théodred pushes through the swinging door of the kitchen. Ten pairs of eyes stare at him in bewilderment.

"How can we be of help, my lord?" the old kitchen mistress asks, baffled why the heir of Rohan was in her territory.

"Do you have any cinnamon rolls left over from breakfast?"

"Yes, my lord. How many do you wish?"

Thinking for a moment he scans the large Aldburg kitchen, "Three or four, and apples as well."

Quickly, one of the kitchen maids puts four buns and apples into a small basket lined with a red and white chequered tablecloth and hands it to him.

With a sharp incline of his head, Théodred thanks the women and turns on his heels. Ducking his head against the rain, the crown prince sprints across the yard from the castle's main door towards the stables.

Inside the large t-shaped building it is cosily warm. The riders' horses are racked up in their bays dozing or chewing on some hay. The princes' stallions are at the other end of the stables in the alley to the right. The shieldmaidens' horses are placed there as well.

Walking around the corner he instantly notices her strawberry blond hair shimmering in the dimmed light. She treats her stallion's chestnut coat with powerful strokes with the brush in her right hand while her left rubs the withers like horses would do to each other for comfort.

Quickly, he sneaks up to Daeroch's bay. Smelling the apples and buns, the stallion nickers.

Théodred seizes the opportunity. "Was that your horse or your stomach?" he teases Lisswyn.

Surprised by his voice behind her she turns around, laughing at him. "My horse!"

Playfully, he raises his eyebrows, smiling brightly. "I missed you at breakfast."

"Ah, yes, I…" she evades to answer.

"Don't fret, Lisswyn," his voice sounds deep and soft and his eyes hold hers in a warm look. "Éomer told me that you usually skip breakfast on your free days."

"Yes, I usually do," she admits.

Smiling softly at her, he lifts his hand holding the basket, "So, I brought you this."

At the sight of the basket's contents her jaw drops in surprise and her eyes start to sparkle, "Cinnamon rolls and apples? It is not yuletide yet."

"No, but they were served this morning."

"I missed them at breakfast?" regret sounds in her voice now.

"That is why I brought you some."

Smiling gratefully at him, she takes the first apple and turns around. Holding it on her outstretched palm, she feeds it to Daeroch. The second apple goes in a similar fashion to Firefoot.

"They were meant for you…" Théodred objects playfully.

"Ah, you know me. I always share with the horses," she says, almost laughing before handing the third apple to Brego.

"Now you eat," he pulls the basket back to get it out of her reach and thus stops her with a playful gesture.

"Aye, my lord," she teases him before stepping out of Daeroch's bay.

They sit down on a hay bale in the stable's alley and Lisswyn bites into the first bun with relish. The sight swells Théodred's heart with warmth. He will have to thank his cousin later for this valuable information. Although the way Éomer presented it to him was rather hostile.

"Tell me, why do you skip the first meal of the day?" he asks her curiously.

"Oh, it's an old habit. Something from my childhood," she admits in between two bites.

"Oh. How so?"

Quickly Lisswyn swallows her next bite.

"Well, as you know my family are horse breeders. Our days start very early with the first signs of dawn. When we are out on the plains with the herd, the horses usually start moving shortly before sunrise. If we wish to follow them, we have to pack our things quickly, toss everything on our cart, put the harness on our cart horses and get moving. There is no time for breakfast until the herd stops for their first grazing sometime during the morning, perhaps not even before noon. So we are used to empty stomachs in the early hours of day."

"So you have no bread with you that you can just grab and eat as soon as you are on your way?"

His innocent question causes Lisswyn to chuckle before she swallows her bite again and answers, still slightly amused. "We don't have an oven out there in the Wold. And even if we had, how should we move it around on our journey?"

"So, no bread?"

"No. We don't have an oven at our winter camp either. We have a few heating stones, sometimes we use those to bake flatbread, but very seldom."

"But you have breakfast at your winter camp?"

Again the shieldmaiden chuckles before answering. "No. It is always the animals first. At winter camp we have to feed them hay and oats first thing in the morning, then milk the sheep and goats. After that we can have breakfast."

"And what do you have as a meal then?"

"Usually my mother and aunt cook porridge and we eat apples or stewed fruits and nuts we gathered on our journey with it."

"Is that why you like cinnamon rolls so much?"

"It is a special treat, yes," she confesses, her cheeks blushing slightly.

With his gentle blue eyes Théodred watches her as she takes another bun from the basket and takes a bite. Silently, the prince decides to order cinnamon rolls for the morning after their nuptials as part of his morning gift.

Their peaceful moment alone is soon interrupted. "Lisswyn?" a female voice calls from the stable's entrance.

Quickly, the first shieldmaiden swallows the bite in her mouth and jumps off the hay bale. "I am here."

Théodred stands up as well a moment before Merelis comes around the corner, "Théodred prince wishes to… oh. You already found her, my lord?"

"Indeed, I did," his answer is sharp, disapproving. "And I wonder what took you so long to get here?"

"I… I," Merelis stammers. "I though it… it was not … not so urgent, my lord."

"That's not for you to judge."

Lisswyn's eyes flicker from her companion to the crown prince. To witness how he so harshly reprimands one of her companions makes her insides stiff.

"You may leave," he orders Merelis coldly.

"Aye, my lord," after one last pleading look at Lisswyn she hurries away.

Turning towards the crown prince, Lisswyn softly speaks up. "You could have been less rigorous."

His face still a stern façade, he turns to face the first shieldmaiden, his eyebrows shooting up. "Could I? I think you are too gentle at times, Lisswyn."

His cold, harsh voice feels like daggers piercing her body.

"I will work on that, my lord," she murmurs.

Her subordination and her using his title again is the final straw on his already strained temper.

"Why are you back to formality again?" he demands.

Growing even quieter, Lisswyn answers, "I thought you said that I may call you by your name in private but not in public?"

"I said you may call me by my name when we are alone and right now, we are. There is no one within ear shot." His anger slowly subsides. As she stays silent, not knowing what to tell him, he continues, his voice soft now, almost pleading. "I never hear you calling Éomer by his title."

"Well, he is a friend..."

Her answer stings in his chest and he swallows hard before he asks, "Am I not a friend?"

Feeling trapped, she averts her eyes from his inquisitive look, "You are my future king."

This new answer stings even more. A tense silence threatens to spread between them, before Théodred continues in a low, almost raspy voice, "I'd like to be your friend as well, do you not know?"

Her eyes dart up to meet his and he holds her look with his grey blue eyes that look sad now, pleading.

"Yes," she whispers, not knowing what else to say, but then continues, "What did you wish to talk to me about?"

Realisation hits him in that moment. The situation starting out so beautifully went all awry within a minute. Regretting his argument with her deeply, he softens his voice even further. "Nothing. I just missed you at breakfast and wished to see you."

It is a confession unseemly to be made at such an early point in their courtship. But now it is said and he does not wish to take anything back.

Something in the way he speaks stirs Lisswyn. She can feel her heart beating faster and a tingling sensations spreads in her stomach. Shyly she smiles at him and Théodred takes it as a sign of reconciliation. Sitting down on the hay bale again he waits for her to join him. 'I need her father's permission for marriage soon,' he thinks to himself before he addresses her again.

"Tell me about your family. What are they like?"

Lisswyn sits down next to him.

"Well, I have an older and a younger brother, then there are my parents, my uncle and aunt and a cousin. My older brother married three years ago, so now there's also my sister-in-law and a nephew. Before I came to Edoras my father's parents lived with us, too. We are simple folk, horse breeders," she says, shrugging her shoulders not knowing what the prince wishes to know.

"Whom are you closer with, your mother or your father?"

"My father."

"Tell me about him."

"He is very strong, hard, but just. You cannot disobey him, he… he is the one who governs our lives, who carries all the responsibility. He decides when to leave winter camp in spring and when to return in autumn. He decides which horses we take to the fair to sell and which ones we keep. He decides how many provisions we take with us on our summer journey and how much we buy to last through the winter."

"That sounds a lot like what my father does on a slightly larger scale."

"A lot larger and with a lot more people to take care of."

"It is still the same responsibility."

"No, it's not."

Théodred smirks, "Is he as stubborn and contradicting as you are at times?"

Her round eyes shoot up to meet his and she blushes again. "I am afraid, yes," she answers shyly. "He is proud, for sure. My family does fairly well. Not many have a herd as large as ours and sell for such high prices. Firefoot is from our breed, as well as Snowmane and Háma's horse."

Théodred takes in the information Lisswyn just gave him. A proud and successful man as her father has his own hardships to take care off and little use of the king's protection. Especially since the éoreds scarcely ride all the way to the Wold in the northeast. Even if there was no doubt Lisswyn's father will in the end consent to his wish for marriage, he will need to find the right words when it comes to asking for her hand, Théodred muses as Lisswyn eats the last apple from the basket.

"I didn't know my father's horse was from your family."

"Aye. He bought it five years before I entered my training at Edoras. You came with him to our corral and yurt that day."

"You remember the day so well?" Théodred asks astonished.

"I envied his shieldmaidens back then for their beautiful uniforms."

Her innocent answer sends the prince laughing warmly, sparkle in his eyes.

"Why do you laugh at me?" she asks, insecure.

"I'd hoped it was my stunning appearance capturing your eye. Now I learn I am a great fool to do so," he jests still chuckling. Her quizzical look causes him to be earnest again. "I liked your answer, that it was neither my father's title nor the great number of riders accompanying him on such an occasion which impressed you. It's a sign that you are just as proud as your father, and rightfully so."

Upon his answer Lisswyn's mouth drops slightly open. She has no idea of how to answer him, but there is no need for it, for the prince speaks up again.

"I have some reports to look through and unfortunately have to leave you be now." His strong hand takes her right and brings it up to his lips. Softly placing a kiss on her knuckles, he studies her eyes for her reaction.

The intimacy makes Lisswyn blush and the crown prince releases her hand. He takes a couple of steps backwards, smiling at her roguishly before turning around to leave.

"Théodred," the sweet sound of her voice calling his name stops him in his tracks and fills him with a buzzing warmth. Quickly he turns around.

"Yes?"

She knocks her head at the basket with the remaining cinnamon roll, "Thank you for bringing me breakfast."

His smile widens. "It was my pleasure."

~ S ~

After Éomer had come to his study, he tried to occupy his mind with paperwork, but his thoughts continued to return to Lisswyn. Brooding over his feelings for her and how he wasted so many years not noticing what she really meant to him, his eyes come to rest on a small old cupboard in the corner of the study. Knowing what it holds, Bledwyn's words from the night before come to his mind. 'I fear your mother's ring may never be worn again.'

A deep sigh escapes his lips. Slowly, he rises from his armchair and walks over to the dark wooden cupboard. With stiff fingers, the prince pulls out the shallow top drawer and looks at his mother's jewellery.

On the left side of the drawer sits a parure containing a necklace, two bracelets, a stomacher and a tiara made from red gold, diamonds and small rubies. It is the parure she used to wear on official banquets for foreign dignitaries or on high days, marking her as a born princess of Rohan, a descendent of Éorl's line. The only woman allowed to wear this jewellery now is Éomer's sister.

Next to the parure in the middle of the drawer are a simpler necklace and a large ring made from yellow gold with a pear shaped emerald in the centre of the ring as well as the necklace's pendant. A trio of bezel set diamonds are grouped around each emerald, further accented with bead set diamonds on either side. His mother wore them every day of her life after being married to his father. The necklace and ring showed her station as the Lady of Aldburg. Éomer's future wife will earn the privilege to wear those.

Swallowing hard, the Marshall tells himself once more that it will not be Lisswyn, but his heart is not ready to accept this yet. His stinging eyes look at the other jewellery in the drawer, rings, necklaces, earrings and bracelets, when they suddenly come to rest on a small brown leather pouch.

Frowning, Éomer takes it and pulls the string around it open. He grabs inside and as his fingers feel the leather pendant and the long tassel, he realizes what he holds. A wide smile appears with the memory of when and how he came to possess the lucky tassel.

Pulling it free from the pouch he looks at the foot long tassel made of chestnut horsetail and the round leather amulet both held together by a soft leather band. One side of the amulet is untouched, the other displays an engraving made with a hot needle or spike. Each letter burnt into the soft brown leather dot by dot: "For good fortune – Lisswyn".

Clutching his strong hand around the lucky tassel he holds it against his left chest and inhales deeply. He has not lost it like he told her two nights ago, he simply forgot where he put it two years ago when he moved from Edoras to Aldburg to take on his new role as Marshal over Eastemnet.

A loud knock on his study's door pulls Éomer out of his reminiscence.

"Who is it?" he asks sharply.

"Théodred," comes a voice from the other side of the door.

With a deep long sigh Éomer pushes the drawer shut, pockets the tassel into his breeches and starts to walk back to his desk before he answers, "Come in."

His cousin steps into his study and gives him a scrutinizing look. "What are you doing?"

"Looking over the kitchen's inventory list and the food orders from my kitchen master."

"She is a resolute character."

"You know her?" Éomer asks, surprised.

"I met her earlier, when I went to the kitchen to fetch some left over cinnamon rolls. Thank you for the valuable information by the way." While speaking the last sentence a sentimental smile appears on the heir's face.

Seeing his cousin's smile, the image of Lisswyn's round hazel eyes come to Éomer's mind and the corners of his lips come up into a bittersweet smile, "You are welcome." After a short pause he adds. "I bet she looked at you with round brown eyes like a foal that has discovered its liking for sugar…"

At the analogy Théodred puffs, amused, "Yes, she did."

For a long moment the two princes fall silent, Théodred watching his younger cousin who seems to be in a gloomy mood.

"Is there something you wish to talk about?" the older offers.

"Hm? No, I just had a terrible night. I am sorry I was not myself this morning." It is not an outright lie, but not the whole truth either. Feeling Théodred's scrutinizing look on him, Éomer hopes fervently his cousin will not question him further.

"Alright. Can you call the men of the patrol who had the encounter with the dark riders?" the crown prince swiftly changes the subject.

"Yes, of course. Why?"

"I wish to hear their reports personally and perhaps ask some questions."

"As you wish, my lord."

Frowning at Éomer's answer, Théodred watches him walk to the study's door.

"I'll go get them."

~ S ~

Sitting on the hay bale, Lisswyn eats the last cinnamon roll with delight. She thinks about Théodred and how he brought her favourite treats.

His attention feels unfamiliar yet not unpleasant. It causes a strangely warm and tingling sensation in her chest and she blushes just from thinking about how he had kissed her hand again, for the second time within three days.

What enchanted her most however were his eyes. She had never seen him look at her like that before. His eyes had been soft, caressing, in a way, but her friend's words echo in her head as well. _"Théodred would never court a commoner like me or Lisswyn.'"_ So his attention could mean only one thing, and she will not let him woo her into this. She has to be careful to not fall into the trap, to not fall for him when all he is looking for is a mistress.

Sighing, she remembers how she feared Théodred's look in her early years at Edoras. Emotionless, scrutinizing, he'd had the look of a seasoned warrior making up his mind about a novice. He had been neither hard nor threatening, but judging. Despite their amicable first meeting at the far end of the horse corrals, she always felt shy and low in his presence, intimidated by his station and title.

Smiling to herself, she remembers one of the moments when those feelings were the worst.

_It was two days after Théodred had helped her with the knife throwing. In the afternoon she was called to the trainer's quarters. On her way there she mused that it was probably Aldor wishing to know how she had decided._

_When he took her out of training two days before the horse fair, he simply said it was for her own good. With her bad temper she was a threat not only to herself, but to others as well. She had proved this rather effectively by cutting his arm._

_Such behaviour was, as he'd called it, most unbecoming for a shieldmaiden-to-be. Her suspension was not meant as a punishment, however, but as a chance to rethink her choice to become a warrior. In case she came to the conclusion she wished to leave and return to her family, she could do so. All she had to do was tell him and she had no more disciplinary measures to fear. Otherwise they would talk again in due time._

_She had made up her mind two days earlier, after her encounter with the crown prince, and was now eager to tell Aldor her decision._

_When opening the door, Lisswyn immediately realised Aldor was not alone; Háma and even the crown prince were with him. Highly intimidated by their presence, she hesitantly entered the room. With an accentuated incline of her head she greeted the men._

_Aldor came straight to the point, "Have you thought about the ultimatum I made you eighteen days ago, Lisswyn?"_

_"Aye, my lord," she answered in a low voice._

_"Have you made a decision?"_

_With the eyes of Háma and Théodred on her, an unpleasant warmth crept up her neck._

_"Aye, my lord."_

_"And what is it?"_

_"I wish to become a shieldmaiden and I will do everything needed to accomplish it."_

_To bring out this sentence without a stutter or a crack in her voice cost her all her strength. She wanted desperately to be viewed as resilient while at the same time she felt the very opposite. Looking at her teacher insecurely she recognised how his eyes flashed to the side. Théodred and Aldor seemed to share a knowing look._

_The short signal Théodred sent the captain with his eyes and chin was almost too reduced to be noticeable, but the men understood each other nonetheless._

_"Good. Your training recommences tomorrow morning at the usual time," was all Aldor told her, unemotionally._

_"Thank you, my lord, my lords," relief flushed her whole body. Bowing to the three warriors, she left the room, squeezing her eyes shut as soon as she was outside to push away the tears that came up._

_She had been thrilled and nervous about her training starting again the next day, but also feared the punishment that still waited for her for injuring Aldor. To her surprise it never came. She suspected the crown prince had his hands in this._

She never learned whether her suspicion was true or not. Certainly Théodred had a soft side to him, she muses now, her thoughts returning to their meeting this morning.

The sound of heavy boots on the stable's floor tears Lisswyn from her contemplation. She looks up and sees Éomer walking around the corner of the main alley. Happily, she greets him, but the smile that appears on his face looks forced, unnatural.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I am looking for Dargífu - Théodred wishes to hear her on the encounter with the black riders."

"You told him I like cinnamon rolls?"

"Aye".

"Are you sure nothing's wrong?"

"Aye. I… have to look for Dargífu now," without a smile or a fond word, Éomer turns around.

"I can help you search for her," Lisswyn calls after him.

Still walking back to the stables entrance Éomer shakes his head, "No need for it. I'll find her."

Watching him leave, she cannot help but wonder at his mood. It is autumn, she suddenly realises. In only a few weeks, a sad day in Éomer's past will come around again, just as it did eleven years ago. It was the night after being called to Aldor's study and allowed back to her training.

_She had been restless in her bed that night, tossing and turning but not finding sleep. Silently, she got up and went to the barrack's back door. Stepping outside, she already noticed Éomer, standing on the patch of grass._

_Slowly, she walked up to him, coming to stand next to him but not saying anything. If he wished for her to trust him he would have to show her first that he was trustworthy._

_A moment after she had reached his field of vision, his hand came up and wiped across his face. Tears? She wondered looking up to him._

_"A bad dream about your mother again?" she softly asked him._

_Slowly, he turned his head. With his wispy stubble and puffy eyes he looked ridiculous, but the pain that showed in his look kept her from laughing at him._

_"Today is the anniversary of my mother's death," he said with a raspy voice._

_"Oh… You miss her." It was a statement, not a question, but he answered her nonetheless._

_"Every day."_

_Her empathy soothed the wounds to his soul. So he simply stood before her showing her how weak he sometimes was. The silence that spread between them felt unfamiliar but not unpleasant or uncomfortable. After a while he spoke up again._

_"You were singing a song out here once, about someone who had died…"_

_Raising her chin slightly, she told him she knew which song he was talking about._

_"… who was it you were singing about?"_

_"My grandmother. She passed away shortly before I came to Edoras last year."_

_"It was a beautiful song."_

_"Would you like me to sing it for you?" She didn't know where the offer came from. Usually she would only sing together with her family or just for herself but never for an audience. Yet, perhaps this once her song could help?_

_"Would you?" he asked her, surprised by her offer._

_Without further thought she started singing. Her voice was clear as a bright winter sunrise, rather deep for a young girl, but it easily hit the notes more than an octave higher where the tune of the song went up._

_"Thanks for all you've done_  
_I've missed you for so long_  
 _I can't believe you're gone_  
 _You still live in me_  
 _I feel you in the wind_  
 _You guide me constantly_  
 _And I'll come home and I miss your face so_  
 _Smiling down on me_  
 _I close my eyes to see_  
 _I carry the things that remind me of you_  
 _In loving memory of_  
 _The one that was so true_  
 _You were as kind as you could be_  
 _And even though you're gone_  
 _You still mean the world to me_  
 _I've never knew what it was to be alone, no_  
 _'Cause you were always there for me_  
 _You were always home waiting_  
 _But now I come home and it's not the same, no_  
 _It feels empty and alone_  
 _I can't believe you're gone_  
 _And I know, you're a part of me_  
 _And it's your song that sets me free_  
 _I sing it while I feel I can't hold on_  
 _I sing tonight 'cause it comforts me."_

_After she had finished her song, a long silence spread between them and for the first time his presence felt comfortable._

From then on, this was the way between them. She felt comfortable around him. They had somehow become friends who over the years had come to know each other very well, teasing each other, daring each other, laughing with each other and giving the other comfort or words of advice. She had also come to learn that Éomer was a moody person at times and that it was best to leave him be in such moments. But usually he told her he just wanted to be alone. He never simply walked off…

~ S ~

At half past noon, a loud bell announces a warm lunch is currently being served in the great hall. Not knowing what else to do, Lisswyn hurries back to the castle. She finds the other shieldmaidens already sitting at a table eating the chicken soup.

"Wilrun, Merelis," she calls them and hurriedly walks over to meet them. "Dargífu, how are you? Éomer was looking for you earlier at the stables."

"Yes, I know, I already reported to Théodred."

"Good." Lisswyn sits down next to her companions and notices how Merelis stares down at her soup, stirring it absentmindedly but not eating. "Merelis?" she addresses her. As her friend looks up she recognizes distress in her face. "I know you feel bad because Théodred reprimanded you, but you were in error," Lisswyn tells her quietly. "You should have come see me as soon as possible."

"I know." Regret shows in Merelis voice as well as in her light blue eyes. "Do I have to fear a penitence?"

"Perhaps you should fear mine," Lisswyn winks, easing the tension and then fills a ladle of soup into her bowl. "What are the three of you doing this afternoon?"

"We want to go down to the city. There is a fine dressmaker," Dargífu answers in between spoons full of soup.

Merelis cheerily adds, "Since the Marshal called for a dance tonight I might spend part of my salary on a new dress. Why don't you come with us?"

"You know I do not have the money for a dress," Lisswyn replies quietly before taking her first spoon full of soup.

"Just trying them on is fun, too," Merelis tries to convince her captain.

With a side glance, Lisswyn notices that all three of her companions look at her expectantly and a small puff escapes her lips, "Very well, I'll come with you."

They make their way down from the castle's hill shortly after lunch. During the course of the morning the raining slowed to a mere drizzle. The ground is muddy and slippery and the four women have linked their arms to steady each other.

It is a short walk through the king's city of old, past dark timber houses with straw roofs and horse heads on the gables. Children are running about, chasing each other or some cats or other small animals. The adults go about their daily works. A couple of taverns and shops lie on their way down the hill towards the old marketplace where the farmers build up their stalls twice a week to sell fruits, vegetables, grain, and animals for slaughter. Shortly before the women reach the marketplace, Dargífu directs them over to one of the houses and opens the door.

A small bell hanging above in the door frame rings and a woman's voice from the back answers, "I'll be right there."

The last time Lisswyn visited a seamstress was for her brother's wedding. She bought a fine dark green brocade dress for her mother to wear. Although she and her brother put up the money together, she still spend almost her whole salary on it. She had never owned anything grander than her knitted woollen dresses.

The colours and designs of the gowns, capes, shawls and dresses displayed at the small shop have her and Wilrun gaping in awe.

A tall slender woman comes to meet the four shieldmaidens. "Good afternoon, how can I help you?" she asks politely and upon recognizing the king's emblem on the four women's brown tunics and dark green coats hastily adds, "My ladies."

Merelis is in her element, "We are looking for suitable dresses for tonight's dinner at the Marshal's castle."

After only few minutes she, Dargífu and Wilrun have selected a couple of dresses to try on. Lisswyn still marvels at a dark red satin dress with a black bodice and dark red chiffon trumpet sleeves. Carefully her fingers stroke the fine fabric and the golden embroidery at the neckline and on the bodice. A coordinated golden belt accentuates the fitted waistline.

"How is this?" Merelis' voice pulls her out of her veneration and she joins her friends who discuss the different dresses they try on until Merelis finally has made up her mind.

"I think I will buy this. How about you Wilrun?"

The tall woman turns left and right in front of a large mirror in a lime green dress. A small smile of regret appears on her features before she meekly admits, "It's too expensive."

"But it looks so beautiful on you," Dargífu protests pointing to the low neckline with her right, "and you can even hide a knife there." Over her left arm she has a white and red dress hanging to buy for herself.

"Still, I cannot afford spending more than half of my salary on a dress."

"I am a merchant's daughter…" Merelis pipes in "Let me bargain with her. How much is it?"

"One gold and two silver coins."

"And how much can you spare?"

"Nine silver coins at the most."

Merelis takes in a sharp breath between her teeth and Wilrun hastily gives in and starts to take off the gown. "It's useless. I know."

But Merelis protests. "No, it's not. If we all buy something I can offer her a good deal. What about you, Lisswyn?"

The first shieldmaiden has been standing to the side throughout their conversation quietly admiring the fine garments her friends had picked. Upon her being addressed she sighs softly. "I told you I need the money for my family."

"Can't you take a little of it to buy something for yourself?" Merelis asks "I mean you're their daughter. Surely you deserve something nice every once in a while, like everyone does."

Dargífu comes to Merelis' aid, "Don't they give you a present for your birthday?"

Lisswyn smiles at their amicable argumentation. "Of course, my mother always sends me the herbs for my morning tea and some tinctures."

"I mean something just beautiful," Merelis clarifies.

"She gave me a woollen dress three years ago."

"Without practical value?" Merelis emphasizes.

"Impractical things do not hold any value, Merelis," Lisswyn laughs.

"Yes, they do."

"Like what?"

"Like a hair-slide or a pin for a bodice." Merelis points out and Dargífu quickly joins her holding up a small silver clasp. "Here is a fine one…"

Lisswyn can't help it and laughs at her friend's offer, "That's a small girls slide."

"It has a horse on it." Dargífu protests with played indignation, causing all four women to laugh.

"I am your captain. Stop making fun of me!" Lisswyn shakes her head, still chuckling.

"Alright," Merelis finally relents, taking the three dresses that the shieldmaidens selected and walks over to the dressmaker to broker a price. After five more minutes the four shieldmaidens are standing in the street again. The drizzle has stopped and the clouds start to break open.

"Where to now?" Merelis asks brightly.

Dargífu answers just as spirited, "There is a silversmith down the street..."

Smiling at her friends Lisswyn turns down the offer, "I will go back and take Daeroch out for a walk along the river..."

"You and your horse," Merelis sighs dramatically, rolling her eyes in mocked exasperation. "Any man who wishes to catch your attention would have to grow a horsetail and hooves first."

Again all four women laugh at the joke.

"Have fun," Lisswyn tells her companions and turns to walk back when Wilrun quickly joins her. "I'll come with you back to the castle. I need to pack my things."

The two women have almost reached the castle's motte, when Lisswyn hesitantly addresses her friend.

"Wilrun, do you think…"

"Yes?"

"Nevermind," the first shieldmaiden shakes her head.

"No, go on," Wilrun urges, stopping in her tracks.

Lisswyn comes to stand as well and they look at each other for a moment, the first shieldmaiden fighting down the wish to keep her fears and worries for herself, before she finally speaks up.

"How do you know that Erkenbrand's rider, you know, the one who pursues you, is out for something sincere?"

"You mean Elfstan? I don't. Not yet."

"But you return his attention."

"Because I like him, but if he starts indicating he is out for something indecent I will call him off." Wilrun's calm voice is reassuring but her eyes search Lisswyn's face scrutinizing. "You ask because of Théodred?"

Lisswyn takes a breath before slowly nodding her head. "Yes," she admits.

"You like him?"

"No!... I mean, yes. I mean… I don't know." The first shieldmaiden sighs deeply. "We were like commander and warrior the whole time. Now something has changed. It is as if he is trying to charm me… sometimes he even treats me like a lady of the court."

Lisswyn looks at her friend for help, but Wilrun simply raises one eyebrow.

Hastily, the first shieldmaiden continues. "I know, you are right, of course. He will never earnestly court me and I will not consent to being his mistress, but what is this? What am I to do?"

For a short moment Wilrun simply smiles at her sympathetically before she gives her answer: "Perhaps he is just being flirtatious out of boredom. If I were you I'd play along for as long as it stays just playfulness, but at the right moment tell him that you will never be his mistress. Then see how he reacts."

"What if he makes it an ultimatum? Either I become his mistress or he dismisses me as shieldmaiden?" Lisswyn worries.

"You said you would rather take the dismissal?"

"I know, but… I always wanted to be a shieldmaiden. I fought hard to achieve this - my family still has to pay for it…"

"Pay for it?" Wilrun interrupts her astonished.

"My father had to buy me out of a betrothal…," Lisswyn reveals, whispering and lowering her eyes to the ground.

"You have to find out for yourself what you deem worse, Lisswyn," Wilrun's voice shows empathy. "No other can make this decision for you. All that I can say is this: the worst thing that could happen would be falling for him and having him break your heart."

Looking back up, Lisswyn's eyes meet Wilrun's. They show her fear and worry and the first shieldmaiden chews on her lower lip for a moment before she speaks again.

"Thank you, Wilrun," Lisswyn murmurs, and the two women continue on their way back to the castle.

~ S ~

It is late afternoon already when Lisswyn takes Daeroch out of the stables and on to a ride along the Entwash. The ground is rain-soaked and muddy, the air damp and misty, the sun barely comes through. She lets her stallion walk along the river, choosing his own path and relaxing.

Earlier, the first shieldmaiden packed her dried clothes for their early departure tomorrow morning, leaving only her dress unpacked for the dancing after dinner. The woman already feels the urge to escape the whole affair, but of course, she cannot.

With a couple of young unmarried noble ladies around with their elaborate dresses and hairstyles, she will not cause much attention in her simple brown woollen dress her mother had knitted for her. It took her all winter because the yarn was so fine and to make it at least halfway elegant her mother had used very thin needles. The outcome however had been worth the work. It was one of Lisswyn's finest dresses.

If only her family had money to have the wool and yarn dyed first.

Surely the noble ladies will wear expensive dresses like the ones she saw earlier this day at the seamstress; velvet or silken dresses in green, yellow or red for this evening, with embroidery along the hemlines and maybe small crystals sewn to the fabric for sparkle and silver or golden belts.

Lisswyn's dresses were always simple, white or brown – the natural colour of karakul sheep, the breed of her family's herd – with no additional trinkets. Part of her likes it this way. It's how she is, but it also always reminds her of her lower birth rank. Despite everything she has achieved thus far in her life, it always makes her feel inferior.

Clenching her fists, she decides that she will not let this happen tonight. She will hold her head up high and simply be proud of her position as head shieldmaiden. Smiling at her own intent, she rides back to the king's city of old.

~ S ~

The castle's great hall is filled with almost three hundred people, nobles and warriors of higher rank with their families. Hundreds of candles make it glow in a golden light. The last course of the meal has already been served and the kitchen maids quickly carry away the used cutlery and plates. The princes sit at the high table on a small podium that in the past held the king's throne. Although the table holds space for at least six people, Éomer and Théodred sit there alone, without a family to eat with them. They have not been talking much during the meal, but now Théodred turns to look at the younger prince.

"Is it my imagination or is one of the ladies constantly looking at you, cousin?"

"Olfete?" Éomer asks and a deep sigh escapes his lips. "Yes, she…. In a way she pursues me."

"Did you not say that there are no maidens suitable for marriage at Aldburg just yesterday? What about her?"

"I…" Éomer hesitates and inhales before he quickly rushes to finish the sentence. "…I already took her to my bed and I am certain I am not the only one."

"Oh." Théodred's eyebrows shoot up in surprise.

Pressing his mouth shut Éomer nods once and almost unnoticeable.

"Was it satisfying?"

Baffled, the younger prince looks up to meet his older cousin's gaze. After a short pause, Théodred continues with a shrug, "Well, she is a beauty and if I were Marshal of Aldburg I'd consider taking her as my mistress."

His words however are not taken so lightly by his younger cousin. "Didn't you just yesterday tell me that you wish to marry Lisswyn?" he asks with a strained voice.

Théodred chuckles, then answers teasingly, "I did, and I also just now said that if I were Marshal of Aldburg, which I am not..." After a moment he adds, his voice dropped to a bare whisper, "For me, there is only one."

Éomer grinds his teeth and looks out straight over the crowd at the great hall.

After a while of silence between the two men, a small group of musicians start to play. The riders in the hall join the famous song with their singing.

 _Here's a health to the king and a lasting peace,_  
_To faction an end, to wealth increase;_  
 _Come, let us drink it while we have breath,_  
 _For there's no drinking after death._  
 _And he that will this health deny,_  
 _Down among the dead men let him lie!_  
 _Let charming beauty's health go round,_  
 _In whom celestial joys are found,_  
 _And may confusion still pursue_  
 _The senseless women-hating crew;_  
 _And they that women's health deny,_  
 _Down among the dead men let them lie!_

As another cheery song begins, some of the men and women in the hall start dancing Théodred chuckles again.

"What is so funny?" Éomer asks, slightly annoyed by his cousin's good humour tonight.

"Lisswyn," the crown prince knocks his head in her direction. Éomer follows his look and sees Lisswyn fidget with the hem of her soft brown woollen dress.

"On our last evening at the Hornburg, any man who had wished to ask her for a dance would have needed to be brave," Théodred explains his amusement.

"She feels uncomfortable on nights of dancing," Éomer tells him flatly.

"Yes. I can tell. She has to get used to it, though. I think I will help a little with that."

Théodred rises from his seat, but before he can start to walk over to the first shieldmaiden one of Aldburg's young nobles approaches her.

"Seems like you have at least one brave man here," the heir of Rohan states, slightly amused sitting back down.

The two princes watch as said man offers Lisswyn his arm and leads her to an open space in the middle of the hall where others are already dancing.

The shieldmaiden feels paralysed. With the young man's hand on her back and his other holding her right upper arm the sensation of being violated again rises in her chest. With her hands pressed against his shoulders, she tries to keep as much space between their bodies as possible without pushing or being too obvious about it. The young man is not crossing any lines of propriety, his right hand stays above the small of her back, their bodies touch only at their hips when they step forth and back with the dance's pattern, but every inch of her body cries in agony.

Éomer notices her discomfort immediately, but since his cousin has announced his claim on her the previous night there is no way he can get up and intervene now. Instead he turns his head and sees Théodred watching the situation without any noticeable emotion. It is the last straw for him.

"Get off your backside and help her! You claim to love her, don't you?" Éomer snaps at him.

Théodred turns his head sharply to look at his younger cousin. His voice is deadly calm and cold as ice, "I will pretend you just did not adopt the wrong tone."

His hard gaze holds Éomer's for a long moment until the younger prince finally subjects. "I apologise. It was out of place."

"It was," Théodred's voice cuts like a knife. "Make sure you fulfil your duty."

The crown prince's hard gaze still on him Éomer averts his eyes.

Théodred rises from his chair. As soon as the song comes to an end, he stands next to Lisswyn and her dancing partner, smiling gently.

"May I cut in?" he asks the man politely, knowing fully well that the addressed cannot deny the future king's request.

"Of course, my lord. Thank you, my lady," he says inclining his head to both, Théodred and Lisswyn.

The crown prince notices the forced smile on her face as he gently pulls her into his arms for the next dance. It is not because of him, but because of the situation she has just been in. Although he does not understand her discomfort when it comes to dancing with men unknown to her, he understands that she indeed feels rather miserable in those situations. To pull her out of that mood he tries to jest.

"Am I such a bad dancer that I deserve a look like this?" he asks her, smirking as a slower waltzing tune begins and he starts to guide her across the empty floor of the great hall.

Lisswyn quickly looks up to meet his eyes, "Of course not, my lord. I apologise, I was being-"

"Just show me your beautiful smile, the real one, will you?" he interrupts her before she feels any more uncomfortable. Lisswyn does and her cheeks flush. It is the sweetest sight Théodred can think of. He knows that the nobles are watching them closely and he can feel how tense and intimidated Lisswyn feels. Zealous to make the situation easier on her, he leans forward to whisper in her ear. "I am sorry I was not here for the first dance."

Questioningly she looks at him.

"You were uncomfortable with the young man, I could tell," he explains. "Although I believe he was rather cordial and polite?"

"Yes, he was, but I do not know him, so…"

"I am glad you know me well enough to enjoy dancing with me," he smiles. "So how did you spend the rest of your day after the late breakfast at the stables?"

"I wanted to thank you for that again."

"It was my pleasure, Lisswyn. I could not have spent the morning any better."

His direct confession sends a warmth through her body and she shyly smiles at him, but then Wilrun's words come back to her mind. _"Play along for as long as it stays just playfulness, but at the right moment tell him that you will never be his mistress._ She will have to make sure the right moment does not pass unnoticed.

"Well?" the prince looks at her.

"My lord?"

"How did you spend the day?"

"The shieldmaidens and I went down to a dressmaker in the city. Merelis, Dargífu and Wilrun bought the new dresses they wear tonight."

"You didn't buy one for yourself?"

Lisswyn hesitates, looking for an answer. "I couldn't find one that fit."

"What a pity, but you look beautiful anyway."

She feels heat rising to her cheeks. There it is: an open compliment. One or two more and then there will be a hidden suggestion to spend the whole night with him…

"Thank you, my lord." She manages to answer with all her nerves on alert, but Théodred's next question is astoundingly innocent.

"What would your favourite colour for a dress be?"

Baffled it takes a moment for her to find a reply. "I like red, a dark red, like wine."

The prince smiles at the answer and makes a mental note for himself. "So you spend the whole afternoon with your shieldmaidens at the dressmaker's shop without buying anything?"

"No," Lisswyn chuckles. "Of course not. I was riding a little out on the plains and along the river, too."

The change of direction in their conversation has Lisswyn relax. He is only being nice and making small talk, she decides.

"Of course, what else should you do?" mischief is in Théodred's voice.

"Are you making fun of me?"

"No," he says with a smirk, then playfully frowns and looks past her for a split second. Mischief is in his eyes now as well. "Perhaps a little."

A sheepish puff escapes her nose. "Why?"

"Because I like teasing you."

"You make me blush, my lord."

"Indeed. I do," Théodred raises one eyebrow and leans closer to purr into her ear. "And I do it on purpose."

Her blush deepens. Careful now, her mind warns. Mouth slightly agog, Lisswyn looks at him and his smile grows into a big grin.

"I like the rosy touch to your cheeks and when you look at me with big eyes like a foal that has just discovered that its legs are meant for running."

Her mind races over the new playful compliment. It is not just small talk, he is charming her. But why? What is he up to?

"My lord, you…" Lisswyn searches for the right words to reach safer ground in their conversation again and is interrupted by a smugly grinning Théodred.

"Flatter you? Absolutely."

His flirtatious behaviour leaves Lisswyn dumbfounded yet at the same time she finds that she enjoys their impish back and forth. The smile on Théodred's face is open and he is obviously enjoying it, too. _"Play along…"_ Wilrun's advice echoes in her head. But stay alert, her mind warns. Trying hard to keep the corners of her lips from creeping up too far, Lisswyn repeatedly smiles at him, then lowers her eyes again to avoid an outburst of laughter at his smug face until the song comes to its end after a short while.

With a curtsey, Lisswyn thanks him for the dance, but Théodred does not let go of her hand. Instead he gently pulls her up again and smiles.

"I think I'd like to have another dance… with you."

Astounded the shieldmaiden looks at the prince. "But… will this not cause-" searching for the right words again, Lisswyn is quickly interrupted by him.

"Enjoyment on my part? Definitely," Théodred teases her as he starts to lead her around on the dance floor anew.

Her mind is reeling now. This is dangerous territory. What if he hints at his wish to make her his mistress during this dance? She has to stop him before it comes to that.

"What will all the nobles think now that they see us dancing together for another song?"

Playfully, Rohan's heir lifts his head to look at the great hall's wooden ceiling that shows the banners of Rohan in old dark colours framed with gold, pretending to think about an earnest answer. But when he looks back at her, the mischievous sparkle in his eyes is back.

"That I am a little taken with the first shieldmaiden and not willing to let her go just yet? I know, it's scandalous."

Involuntary, an amused chortle escapes her lips. "But you should be dancing with the other unmarried noble women of Aldburg, too."

"No."

"No?" she frowns.

"I am not here for their entertainment and neither am I here to look for a bride," he states, shrugging his shoulders.

'Now it comes,' Lisswyn's mind warns and she starts another attempt to get his mind off a possible intrigue with her.

"But they will be disappointed."

"Ahhhh…. Yes. They will. But you know…" again he leans closer to whisper into her ear. "I do not care."

I have to be more direct, Lisswyn realises and looks at him. "But this will cause them to… gossip."

"So? You and I are proud enough to stand above such things, aren't we?"

"I do not think this to be true for me …" she counters flatly, her face stern as she fervently hopes that he understands her message.

"You should be, you are the first shieldmaiden…. And you know what? We could give them even more reason to gossip…"

'No', her mind screams. 'He will ask me to leave the feast with him to join him at his chambers. Why does he not get my hinting? I do not wish to make it plain and openly turn him down.'

Dread is in her voice now, "By doing what?" and Théodred laughs heartily at the aghast expression on her face.

"By taking the next dance together as well."

His answer is not as bad as she feared, but their continued dancing will definitely be noticed as unusual and maybe even scandalous by everyone in the great hall.

"They will think me your mistress," she blurts, trepidation in her voice and distress on her face.

"No, they will not," he tries to calm her, shaking his head, but she continues, her voice on the brink of cracking.

"Of course they-"

"No. Trust me, Lisswyn, they will not."

This time his calm, reassuring voice and words come through to her, but she still looks alarmed. With gentle eyes he catches her round hazel ones that are slightly widened with fright.

"Why do you say so?" she asks shakily.

She is obviously convinced he harbours improper thoughts about her. Desperate to erase them from her mind Théodred softens his voice even further.

"Because that is not my intention."

"What do you intend, my lord?" She still sounds cautious.

"I wish you to enjoy this evening and especially dancing with me," Théodred tries to soothe her, his eyes showing the hurt he feels over her misinterpretation of his intentions.

Lisswyn is confused, her mind spinning around everything said during their dances. He does not wish to bed me, but this is no courting either, what…?

Théodred interrupts her train of thoughts, "But, of course, if you would rather return to your seat I will let you. You need not fear to be asked for another dance by anyone else this night."

He can see the puzzlement and doubt in her eyes and it pains him.

His words do not make sense to the first shieldmaiden, "How can you be certain?"

"It's just a feeling," he shrugs his shoulders. "But I dare say you can trust me."

He can tell his words confuse her and she is arguing with herself, but he can also feel her relax slightly in his arms again. Lowering his voice, he seizes the moment.

"Just one more dance?" he asks producing a smile. "Pretty please?"

He looks at her like a cajoling puppy and Lisswyn can't help it and chuckles. "Now you look at me like a foal that has just discovered that its legs are meant for running, my lord."

"Ah, I can live with that."

His smug face causes her to smirk slightly and the corners of his lips creep up, too. For a long moment they smile at each other.

He is just flirting, Lisswyn finally concludes.

"Alright, one more dance, my lord."

Again, he throws his head back to look at the ceiling. "Thank you, Béma," he sighs dramatically, then looks down at her again. "I would have been heartbroken had you refused, my lady."

"Stop making fun of me," Lisswyn protests friskily, clapping his arm.

"I am not making fun of you. I simply enjoy dancing with you too much."

His voice sounds soft and sincere at the same time as he looks at her tenderly. Another blush reaches the shieldmaiden's cheeks and she averts her eyes.

"Don't shy away, Lisswyn. Look at me."

She relents and his grey blue eyes hold hers in a long, intense look as the music slowly comes to an end and a new dance starts. Still holding her gaze, Théodred continues to guide her across the great hall to the marginally faster tune.

At the high table Éomer quickly looks away from the dance floor, not able to witness how his cousin holds the woman they both love in his arms for a third dance. A sickening burning sensation spreads in his intestines and his throat clenches. The look his cousin and Lisswyn are sharing right now is too obvious. Anyone who had wondered if their continued dancing with each other was just by chance or held a deeper meaning would know now. It was his duty to spread the news that the deeper meaning was a courtship and not an affair on Lisswyn's cost.

Sighing deeply, Éomer decides to fulfil his duty now. Rising from his seat, the Marshal straightens his back and puts on his best display of enjoyment. He will have to make small talk with the noble families attending the dinner in any case. It will be the usual idle exchange of pleasantries:

"How do you enjoy the evening – very much, thank you - the king is grateful for your allegiance – and we are thankful for his protection - how fares your daughter/son/wife? – very well…" And then he will swiftly spill the news, "Certainly you noticed that Théodred prince has started courting the first shieldmaiden? We all hope for a betrothal within a year." After that he will excuse himself to attend to the next noble family. Ten or twelve conversations like this and he will be free to leave the great hall to seek solace and solitude outside.

~ S ~

Strolling along the low wall shielding the castle's motte from the surrounding town of Aldburg, Éomer inhales the fresh autumn night air and tries hard to get rid of the pictures in his head; Lisswyn and Théodred dancing, laughing, flirting. It has been the hardest evening of his life and right now he has no idea how he will cope with seeing them like this for the rest of their lives once the crown prince and the first shieldmaiden are betrothed and then married. His eyes start to sting again and for the first time in many years he misses his mother desperately. She would have listened to his agony, would have been able to comfort him, to make him see a way to live through this. Blinking hard, he keeps the threatening tears from welling up in his eyes.

Slowly, he strolls over to his favourite spot at the Aldburg courtyard, a small protrusion of the motte with a large oak tree overlooking the river beneath it. Leaning against the tree's trunk, he takes in the plains on the other side of the Entwash. Mist is rising from the wet grass as the moon casts a cold light across the land. For a long while he stands there, unmoving, thinking about his parents, how he spent his childhood years at Aldburg and thought there could never be a better place in Arda than the king's city of old. There could never be a stronger man than his father and how he wished to be just like him.

But he isn't. Had he been like his father he would fight for his love no matter the outcome, even if he was banned from Rohan in disgrace for it and failed to win Lisswyn's heart. But he does not dare it. He has already lost so much in his life. He does not dare lose more. Even if it meant losing the prospect of her becoming his wife. It was by far better than losing every possibility of seeing her ever again.

_"Starry, starry night..."_

The well-known voice coming from behind startles him.

_"Paint your palette blue and grey..."_

Not that voice, Béma, please.

_"Look out on a summer's day..."_

He closes his eyes in defeat.

_"With eyes that know the darkness in the east..."_

After a deep intake of breath, Éomer turns around.

_"Shadows on the hills..."_

He had not noticed someone approaching him out here on the parapet walk.

_"Sketch the trees and the daffodils..."_

He had definitely not noticed her.

_"Catch the breeze and the winter chills..."_

But now he watches her walking towards him, her sweet mezzosoprano voice singing his favourite song.

_"In colours on the snowy linen land..."_

"Lisswyn…" he tries to interrupt her with a coarse voice, but she just steps up to him and softly places her pointing finger on his lips to shut him silent again while continuing the song.

_"Starry, starry night..."_

It is a bold move, she realises. But now that her finger is softly pressed against his lips she does not wish to pull away.

_"Flaming flowers that brightly blaze..."_

Very slowly she takes her hand down again.

_"Swirling clouds in violet haze  
Reflect in mountain lakes of china blue..."_

Her fingertip on his lips caused a tingling sensation in Éomer's chest.

_"Colours changing hue..."_

Inhaling deeply, he tries to calm his nerves.

_"Morning fields of amber grain..."_

He suppresses the growing urge to raise his hand, to softly stroke her cheek and then lean down to kiss her.

_"Weathered faces lined in pain..."_

Unable to move, his eyes hold hers. Without the sunlight they are dark brown, like the eyes of a fawn.

_"Are soothed beneath the Valar's loving hand..."_

The last tune has been carried away by the cool autumn breeze, but still Éomer and Lisswyn face each other.

"Why-" The prince does not get to finish his question.

"I owed you a song."

Not understanding what she is talking about, Éomer tilts his head to one side and looks at her questioningly.

"I lost our grapple challenge and owed you a song," she explains, her voice displaying amusement.

The wish to pull her into his arms tightly rises in Éomer. His arms move marginally but before the motion becomes clear he can stop himself. She is his cousin's intended, Éomer tells himself. Softly, he shakes his head.

"You do not owe me anything, Lisswyn."

Éomer's eyes have turned from glazed to sad. The smile Lisswyn has been sending him since her last sung words starts to fade and worry shows on her face.

"What is it?"

Fearing that any attempt to answer her would lead to a confession, he simply blinks at her for a moment. His throat has become so dry that his vocal cords cannot produce a proper sound anymore.

"Nothing," he rasps.

She can tell that he is lying now, but she does not wish to press him. If he had the wish to talk he would. So she just smiles again then touches his arm with her hand, "We leave early tomorrow. We better go to sleep now."

"You go. I wish to stay here just a little longer."

Understanding he wishes for nightly solitude, she nods her consent and squeezes his arm affectionately, "Try to find some rest."

He watches her leave and an old feeling surfaces on his inside: loss. He will lose someone he loves with all of his heart and there is nothing he can do about it.

 


	6. The secret

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> This story is aimed at mature readers. There will be violence, dark themes, sex scenes and even the mention of sexual violence. I will post a warning at the top of the chapter if there is anything that may be upsetting or offensive to readers.
> 
> I mention a game called "kings and towers" in this chapter - please, see it as the Middle Earth version of chess: same rules, same pawns, same playboard, just a different name ;-)
> 
> Please, leave a review... feedback helps so much to keep me writing!
> 
> I want to thank my writing buddy Polly for her amazing mind and support. Thank you JJ for helping me to figure out if everything comes across as I wish it to. And last but not least: Thank you to my great beta Scribe of the Fanciful.

* * *

  **The secret**

 _"I was going to tell you tonight_  
_But the secret is still my own_  
_And my love for you is still unknown_  
 _Till now I always got by on my own_  
 _I never really cared until I met you."_ (Heart)

* * *

After six days of nearly incessant raining, the change of season is apparent.

The morning of their departure is very cold. Overnight the clouds have vanished and the temperatures have dropped to nearly freezing mark in the early hours of the new day. The humidity that was cast upon the lands during the recent days has come up in a thick morning mist greeting the thirty-two soldiers and three shieldmaidens setting out for the eastern borders of Rohan one hour past sunrise. To keep warm from the cold and wet air Lisswyn has chosen to wear her warmer riding tunic underneath her armour.

As the company makes their way to the Entwade, Lisswyn's thoughts are with her family again. Autumn has always been her favourite season. It is the time of year when her family herds their horses back from the open plains of the Wold to the family's winter camp. It is the time to count and mark the new foals of every year and decide which horses are to stay with the herd and which are to be sold at the Edoras horse fair.

The horse fair - as a child she always looked at it as the highlight of the year. The markets, the merchants, the capital buzzing with people from every end of Rohan. It will start in two weeks' time, but this year Lisswyn will not be at Edoras to meet her family. She will be at the Hornburg with Théodred.

The thought causes very antagonistic feelings in her. Sadness, because she will not be able to talk to her family, see her mother again after three years and meet her nephew for the first time, and a strangely giddy happiness when her thoughts travel to Théodred and the previous night. Looking back on it, she has to admit she greatly enjoyed the frisky banter they shared during their four dances last night. An amused smile crosses her face as Lisswyn remembers how the prince with his playfulness actually talked her into a fourth dance before she retired for the night and went on her bedtime walk outside to find a tormented Éomer.

His obvious suffering about his mother's death, which was about to have its anniversary, pained her. She wanted to give him comfort, but strangely enough he did not wish for it this time. For the first time since they became friends he did not seek solace in her, and Lisswyn desperately wishes to know why. Has something changed between them? And if so, how or why? She doesn't understand.

Two hours after the company started their journey, they cross the river at the Entwade and quickly make their way to the East following the river's course. By noon the sun has dissolved the heavy morning mist and is warming the lands to summery temperatures again. Lisswyn's thicker riding tunic soon becomes too warm. She is not the only one sweating. A couple of riders have even taken off their helmets to cool down a little.

Throughout the day, they ride past harvested fields and farmers ploughing their fields to prepare them for next year's crops. It is an uneventful day and they make camp for the night in a river bend while the sun is already setting.

The crown prince is in a sour mood. Too much ale during the previous night and too little sleep added up to him suffering from a hangover all day. Rubbing his temples he thinks about last night.

It started beautifully. He danced with Lisswyn, deliberately showing everyone in the great hall of Aldburg she was his intended. After clearing their misunderstanding about his intentions it even seemed she enjoyed the dances as well. How he wishes to lie in his bed at the Aldburg castle now with the first shieldmaiden at his side, his arms wrapped around her small form. Instead he is sitting in the grass trying to think of a way to move on with his plans.

After Lisswyn retired for the night, he had looked for his cousin and not found him. Therefore he had done the tedious task of exploring by himself whether the nobles of Aldburg would follow his command willingly instead of his father's. It had been a long night of conversations, beating around the bush until he had finally clarified what he already suspected. Éomer, who remains untainted by Gríma's schemes, is still considered loyal to the King by his subjects at Aldburg. It will be hard for Théodred to act as his father's deputy when the people of Aldburg still support his father beyond reasonable doubt. He will need to have his cousin in on his plans, have him on his side.

Théodred chooses the moment his riders set up his and Éomer's tent to take his cousin to the side.

"You left the feast early last night." It is a statement, but he accentuates it like a question.

"Aye. You know I'm not comfortable on formal nights and I needed some fresh air. I spread the news of your courtship before I left however."

Théodred takes the information with a concise nod and decides to let it pass without a comment. "I'm concerned over my father's health and Rohan's safety," he comes straight to the point instead.

"I know."

"With his mind clouded more each day I fear that Gríma will gain too much influence and power over the way Rohan is ruled. I cannot allow this to happen."

"What do you plan to do?"

"Take my rights as my father's deputy and act accordingly."

Éomer shows his understanding with a soft nod of his head.

"With Gamling's and Háma's éoreds at Edoras, Erkenbrand's, Aldor's and mine at the Hornburg and the extra éored Erkenbrand installed in the Westmarch under Gladwine's command, I have the majority of the Éohere behind me already. The only ones missing are those of the lords in the south and at Aldburg."

"The lords at Aldburg follow my command and you know you have my loyalty, too," Éomer adds, sounding slightly offended.

"The nobles of Aldburg told me last night that they consider you loyal to my father and so does Gríma. I think it will be best if you keep that up. If you openly sided with me you could be accused of treason. Even Éowyn could be affected by that."

Éomer's head snaps up, his eyes displaying not only astonishment, but concern as well.

"If you keep the pretence of loyalty towards my father up however, both of you will be safe. Besides at least one voice of reason can continue to openly argue against Wormtongue even if it leads to nothing."

Éomer takes the information with a thoughtful nod of his head and Théodred continues, "As for your nobles, they gave me their word last night to follow my orders, once you are no longer at Aldburg."

Biting down hard, Éomer's face hardens. "You wish me to resign from my position?"

Théodred puffs over the ridiculousness of his cousin's suggestion. "No, of course not. Keep your title and everything that comes along with it."

The younger prince frowns, bewilderment plain on his face.

"I just want you to resettle to Edoras when we have returned from the eastern borders. Stay there, keep an eye on my father and your sister, hold Gríma at bay and pretend to follow his orders but secretly pass my orders on to the lords in the south."

"For how long?"

"Weeks? Months? For as long as it takes for my father to recover…" Théodred hesitates for a moment before he finishes his sentence, "or pass on into the halls of our forefathers."

"And what about the lords at Aldburg?"

"The Count of Snowbourne will act as your deputy and follow me."

"I see," Éomer answers, short clipped, his nose flaring. The tension between the two princes is palpable.

"You do not agree?"

"I'm just surprised. I feel like a pawn in a game of kings and towers, shuffled around on a play board."

"I'm sorry. I would have discussed this with you last night if I had found you before I talked to the lords." There is accusation in Théodred's words. They both know it, but decide to leave it without comment.

Instead, Éomer shows his consent with yet another nod of his head while biting on his lower lip. He can feel a slight anger burning in his guts, but knows he has no right for these feelings either. Rohan's heir has good reasons for not having discussed his plans with him before he made them. It was his fault alone he is taken by surprise now. He forces his voice to take on a casual tone again. "Anything else I need to know?"

Théodred shakes his head slightly, but then adds, "I am glad I have you, like a brother."

Not wishing to appear sentimental, Théodred then cracks a smile, hauls his right arm around Éomer's neck, pulling him into a headlock, and ruffles his hair with his left.

Éomer groans in protest. "Stop it." His arms come up to pull Théodred's away. Quickly the crown prince releases him with a smirk and upon seeing Éomer's indignant glare laughs at him heartily.

"It's not funny," the Marshal protests.

"Yes it is," the heir objects, still smirking. Éomer can't help it and chuckles. Together they walk back towards the camp where a small fire is already burning.

~ S ~

Although her friends had set up their shared tent for the night, Lisswyn slept under the open sky – for the first time in many weeks. It feels like pure bliss to her when she wakes up the next morning to the sounds of the first riders rummaging around and leaving their tents. Heavy mist makes it hard to see beyond the camp and the air is humid and cold again. To Lisswyn's surprise, a mug of tea is waiting next to her bedroll. It is still warm and smells of her usual herbal morning tea: peppermint and sage.

Holding the mug against her lips and inhaling the calming smell of the tea, she looks around. Yet none look in her direction and she cannot see anyone who would know about it. Éomer comes to her mind. Smiling to herself she enjoys the fresh and aromatic tea. Surely, the generous spirit will reveal themselves in due time.

On their second day the landscape slowly changes from farmland to grassland. It is another uneventful and warm day and by its end they have reached the river delta of the Entwash flowing into the Anduin. On a high bank of the delta, they make camp for the night.

The next morning Lisswyn smells the herbal tea waiting next to her bedroll even before opening her eyes. It must still be very hot and have been placed there only seconds ago, she muses, before her eyes flash open in hope to see her secret provider. But again, Éomer is nowhere near. Disappointment takes hold of her. They are friends. Two years ago before he was appointed Third Marshal of the Riddermark and stationed to Aldburg, they were almost inseparable on patrols like this. Ever since they started from Aldburg two days ago it seems as if Éomer is avoiding her, never speaking to her.

~ S ~

The third day of their travel is hot again and by early afternoon Théodred calls the company to stop at a high bank of the northern most sidearm at the mouth of the Entwash. The cliffs are dropping down thirty feet or more to the water's surface. The river's mouth is spread out to the south in front of them with the banks significantly lower there. That is why the northern most arm marks Rohan's border to Gondor.

"We will make camp here and start to inquire the people of this area tomorrow," Théodred announces. "Let's find a way to get down to the water for a swim," he suggests a little lower to his cousin and his closest riders.

After a few minutes the men make their way to a copse sitting on the lower banks to their east.

"I will go hold watch over at that boulder," Lisswyn points towards a rocky slope closer to the copse. "I wish to be within earshot of the river while the princes take their bath. You two hold watch here at the camp and over the horses," she commands Merelis and Wilrun.

Carefully watching her steps, Lisswyn makes her way over to the scrubby boulder. Behind her to the west lie the vast, rolling, grass-covered plains of Eastemnet. After the rain the grass shines in a dark late summer green, its tips bending in the steady breeze. To the north a number of boulders form the uneven landscape which in the distance rises to the Eastwall of Rohan, the Riddermark's border on the edge of the Emyn Muil and along the west shores of Nen Hithoel. Scrubs, bushes and smaller trees cover those rocky slopes. In front of her, to the east are a couple of more boulders but behind them the great Anduin marks Rohan's border to the swampy marshlands of Wetwang. In the far distance Lisswyn can make out a hazy, dark silhouette; the tops of the Outer Fence surrounding Mordor.

Turning her head to the south she sees the copse made of mostly birch and alder trees with thick undergrowth. It blocks her view to the northern arm of the Entwash where Théodred and the others are bathing now. She can hear them splashing into the water though. Satisfied with her position, she comes to a watchful stand. Looking back to where she was coming from she realises she cannot see the camp anymore. In order to be closer to the river she has walked down the eastern side of the boulder a little.

Breathing in the air, Lisswyn takes in the unfamiliar scents of this part of the Riddermark she has never before seen in her life. She hears small birds chirping and tweeting, insects and bees are buzzing around and a soft breeze brushes through the small strands of hair around her face. The sunshine warms her face. Everything seems peaceful. Relaxing her muscles as she stands there on guard she concentrates on the sounds from the river, when suddenly she hears an alarming commotion. She waits a moment unable to discern what is going on, but when the men's shouts become louder, it becomes clear: Something is happening.

Taking off in a furious run, Lisswyn draws her sword and dodges through the dense underbrush of the little wood. The men's shouts grow even louder. Lisswyn's heart starts to race as fear causes adrenaline to rush through her veins.

'Let Théodred be unharmed,' she prays, racing to the wood's edge. At the top of the bank she comes to a sharp stop. From here the banks drop down at least fifteen feet to the water's surface. Quickly Lisswyn looks around for the expected threat, but all she can see is thirty-two men a little to her left, pushing and pulling each other underneath the water's surface, shouting and laughing like little children. Lisswyn's eyes scan the water until she finds him. Swimming in the middle of the group, Théodred laughs heartily at the fun his men are having.

How could she have been so wrong in her perception?

Still breathing hard from the sprint through the grove and the fear, Lisswyn turns her head to scan the area again when her eyes come to rest on a lone figure emerging from the water right down there in front of the steep face she is standing at.

His broad chest has a sprinkle of curly hair trailing down the middle of his defined stomach. The small water drops caught in the curls glisten in the low evening sun. Lisswyn takes a long unsteady breath, trying hard to control her pounding chest. Her fingers tickle with the urge to touch his chest, crawl the curly hair, caress his round upper arms and shoulders. They are not as bulky as the crown prince's, but still display great strength. Lisswyn remembers how they held her during their grapple session. How she had pushed against the hard muscles of his chest. How they had felt under his tunic and how she had felt in his arm during that cold night five nights ago. Blushing, she swallows hard.

In her mind her fingers trail down his sides to his narrow hips, following the hard ridges of his stomach. Her eyes come to rest on his best part. The sight causes a warm and tingling sensation between her legs and her lips part slightly.

Slowly, her eyes wander back up. The man is still facing down, concentrating on the stony ground in the water to find a good way out of the river. Suddenly, taking another step forward, he raises his head. Lisswyn's eyes dart up and look directly into his warm brown eyes.

Her heart skips, missing a beat in humiliation. For nine long seconds Lisswyn and Éomer hold each other's gaze before she hesitantly turns her head away. One last side glance and she spins around and strides away, her chest now heaving.

He is striking, almost unbelievably so. That much is undeniable. Lisswyn swallows hard on her way back through the grove, trying to quash the thoughts that are now flooding her head. She desires him. It is as though she has suddenly been made aware of something that she knows she should never have even considered. Éomer is her friend, the Marshal of Aldburg - she cannot think of him as more than that. Wilrun's words echo through her mind - a prince would never marry a commoner.

'What is wrong with me?' she thinks, feeling a sudden urge to run as she climbs back up to the boulder. 'Why do I wish to be with him?'

Without further thought, she starts to run into the opposite direction of the camp. 'He cannot be more than a friend.'

At the river's bank Éomer stands, still stunned, knee deep in the water. The moment his eyes caught hers his heart clenched. 'Lisswyn,' was all he could think in that moment, and the pain in his chest had grown further. He felt the urge to call her, to walk over to her and confess his feelings for her, but the knowledge she is his cousin's intended kept him from acting. Helplessly, he watched her turn around and stride away. It was only then he realized that he was naked, but he was too shocked to be embarrassed.

Feeling the agony of losing her again, he stands still frozen in the water. Closing his eyes to get rid of the memory, he inhales deeply, his nose flaring before he wipes his face with his right hand and makes the last steps onto the river bank. Slowly, he brushes the water off his skin and puts back on his clothes.

'I cannot return to camp now,' his mind tells him, so he sits down on a fallen tree and stares into the water.

His cousin's voice pulls him out of his thoughtless stare after a couple of minutes, "What are you looking at, Éomer?"

Confused, the younger prince looks up. "Beg your pardon?"

"I said what are you looking at?" Théodred repeats, slightly amused.

"I… I… Nothing." He shakes his head. "I don't know, I was just staring."

"Thinking of her?"

His jaws slightly agog, Éomer looks at Théodred in bewilderment.

"Lisswyn," Théodred clarifies, unsmiling. "Are you thinking of her?"

When the younger prince fails to give an answer, the older speaks again.

"I know you love her, too."

"No, she… she is just a friend-" Éomer objects hastily, but is interrupted by a severe Théodred.

"I am not a buffoon, Éomer. I noticed how my wish to court her did not sit well with you. I see how you look at her, how you looked at her after your grappling or when I danced with her. It is obvious."

Éomer looks away, ashamed his cousin caught him lying, but not willing to admit either. His eyes dart about on the water's surface, trying to find a way out of this ungraceful situation, when Théodred speaks again.

"There is only one question: Will you act as a man of honour and step back while I court her, or are we rivals in this?"

Éomer swallows hard. "Of course not," he rasps, before looking back at the older prince. "She is your territory."

"Good," Théodred simply acknowledges his answer. "Let's go back to camp."

The two princes make their way back up to the plains in tense silence. They are still a couple of yards away when Théodred starts to scan the campsite for the first shieldmaiden, but fails to find her.

"Where is your captain?" he asks turning to Wilrun.

"She wanted to take watch over at the boulder to be within earshot to the river," the shieldmaiden answers. "Has she not returned with you?"

"No," Théodred frowns and turns to Éomer. "Did we pass her without seeing her?"

"I don't think so."

"I will go fetch her," Théodred sighs.

"My lord?" Wilrun jumps to her feet, her voice stopping him.

"Yes?"

The shieldmaiden gestures at herself and Merelis, "You should take us with you."

Another sigh escapes the heir's lips. "Alright, come along."

Together they make their way back to the boulder. "Where exactly did she take her post?" the prince asks the two women at his side while scanning the surroundings for a sign of Lisswyn.

"Somewhere over here, we could not see her from camp." It is the first time Merelis has dared to speak to Théodred after his scolding back at the Aldburg stables.

"Alright, spread out, look for tracks," he orders, before shouting Lisswyn's name once, twice, thrice, turning to his left and right, scanning the area. No sign of her. With Merelis scouting out to his left and Wilrun doing the same to his right, he marches forward away from camp.

"Lisswyn?" his voice echoes through the grove to his right and over the scrubby boulder. "Lisswyn?" he drags out her name looking around again. No answer, no sign.

A quarter of an hour passes, grading on Théodred's nerves. Constantly he looks around, searching for her silhouette in the distance, but to no avail.

"My lord?" Wilrun's call pulls him from his concentrated inspection of the landscape. Quickly he whips his head around to look for the shieldmaiden. "Over here," she calls, waving her arm for him to see her. Hurriedly he walks over to where she has crouched down.

"A freshly broken twig. Another here, and here and the ground is stirred as if someone was running down the boulder."

"Towards the river? Let's look where it leads us."

Merelis joins them and all three follow the clearly visible track through the underbrush of the copse. Three feet from where the bank drops down to the river fifteen feet below, the track ends.

"She stopped here," Wilrun states. "Why? Why did she run to the river? Did something happen?"

Pointing to his left where the banks come even closer down to the water's surface, Théodred replies, "No, we were bathing over there. Everything was fine."

"I think she walked back up away from camp," Merelis states from a couple of feet behind them. "There is a footprint in the soil here."

Frowning, Théodred looks at the print and around and calls her name, but again there is no answer. "Let us follow that direction and look for more tracks," he orders.

Another fifteen minutes they search, with no other signs of the first shieldmaiden, when suddenly Merelis shouts out, "My lord, quickly."

Running to where she is standing, even farther away from camp, Théodred can feel his heart race. There was alarm in Merelis' voice. Something must have happened.

"Orc tracks," the young shieldmaiden tells him shakily when he is only few feet away from her.

A clenching feeling threatens to crush his heart. Hurriedly he looks down. The tracks are not fresh, but definitely less than three days old. It was a rather small band, fifteen at the most, but enough to overpower a lone woman, even if she was a fierce warrior like Lisswyn.

"Have you found any signs of a fight nearby?" Théodred asks short of breath.

"I haven't looked."

Her blunt answer sends his temper off. "Look for it then," he shouts at her.

Frantically, the three search their surroundings. The orc tracks are leading away north, but there is no sign of a fight or the first shieldmaiden. Panic starts to rise within the prince.

"We head back for camp and put together a search group," he tells them after five agonizingly unsuccessful minutes of searching and calling her name.

On his way back Théodred can barely keep his feet from running. What if she stumbled upon the orcs? What if they took her captive? Would they kill her? Torture her? Or would they keep her as a toy? The thought of what might happen to the woman he loves if this is the case sends his heart beating in a frenzy. His throat feels strangled, his mouth dry as a bone.

"Perhaps she has returned to camp already," Merelis tries to calm him, hurrying after him, but receives no answer. What good does it do to waste time calming himself when he would know for sure in a few minutes?

Storming towards the camp, Théodred's eyes look intensely around for her shape. Most of his riders sit in the grass, eating, resting, only a few have started putting up their tents, but there is no woman amongst them. The tall figure of his cousin comes to meet him.

"You have not found her?"

Concern is showing on the heir's face as he shakes his head. "She has not come back?"

"No. Perhaps she is taking a walk. You know her-"

"We found orc tracks less than three days old. She might have come upon them. We need to search for her."

Éomer looks at him in alarm. "The sun is already setting. Another half hour and it will be dark."

"Yes. We need to set up a search party now."

"Edgar," Théodred calls his first captain. "Choose twenty men for a search group. We need to look for the first shieldmaiden," the heir orders with a strained voice as his captain approaches. "She might have come upon a band of orcs."

"Aye, my lord," the captain hurries away.

In less than two minutes the group is ready to depart.

"Are we looking for the orcs or the shieldmaiden, my lord?" Edgar asks for clarification.

"Both. I am afraid that if we find one we will also find the other." Théodred's face looks pale as the sickening feeling in his stomach grows upon his own answer.

The group is about to leave when Wigbald steps to Théodred's side. "My lord?"

Indignant about the impending delay, he turns towards him when the young rider knocks his head in the opposite direction. "Over there."

Théodred follows his gesture. About forty yards away Lisswyn walks towards the camp. Théodred inhales deeply, straightens himself and briskly strides to meet her at the edge of the camp, as the nausea turns into anger burning in his chest.

"Where have you been?" he bellows at her before she even reaches him.

Startled by this unexpected and completely unusual outburst of his, Lisswyn jerks to a stop, eyes wide with surprise and shock.

"I said, where have you been?" Théodred roars again, crossing his arms in front of his chest. Behind him a considerable number of riders have turned their way and watch curiously.

Swallowing hard, Lisswyn closes the remaining steps before she comes to stand in front of him.

"I took a walk, my lord," she explains calmly.

"A walk? Out there? Alone?"

His sharp reply almost lets her stumble backwards. "Aye."

"What were you thinking?"

Puzzlement shows on her face but she does not answer.

"This is unsafe territory. We found orc tracks," Théodred is yelling again.

"I'm a warrior and I had my sword with me-"

"You could have got killed. You cannot just wander about out there without someone to back you up."

"My lord, I was trained for situations like this," she replies with a forced calmness. "It's you who cannot go wandering about in unsafe territory."

Her outright objection adds further to his fury. "You dare to contradict me?"

"No, my lord. Of course not," she concedes quietly.

"Good. Because I will not have it…." He stares at her with an angry line between his brows, his eyes like daggers. "You will set up everyone's tent for penitence."

"Aye, my lord," she acknowledges with an incline of her head and starts to walk past him.

Spinning around, he hollers, "And you will also take second watch tonight."

She turns to face him again, her expression neutral. Only her eyes show the hurt his anger caused her.

But she knows her station. "Aye my lord," she accepts the second punishment without complaint.

When Théodred speaks no more, she turns around. Three tents have already been set up, leaving nine for her and it is already growing dark. She will have to hurry with this tedious task.

"Infuriating woman," the crown prince grunts to himself. Yet at the same time he regrets that he yelled at her for contradicting him. She was right of course. Officially, she is his guard and he is the one who cannot wander about without protection. The way she told him this was considerate, calm - a legitimate argument. It is one of the traits he likes about her. She would never object him in an unruly manner. If she had a different opinion on something it was usually well founded and put forward in a respectful way. Yelling and punishing her for telling the truth was wrong, but now that it is done he cannot take it back without losing his face. He would have to make amends with her later. Sighing deeply, Théodred starts to walk back to the bonfire. He is stopped by his captain.

"My lord, may I speak?"

"What is it, Edgar?" Théodred sighs.

"I heard that the first shieldmaiden's position changed at Aldburg."

Alert the crown prince looks at his captain. "What exactly did you hear?"

"That you wish to make her your bride, my lord," Edgar replies calmly.

Feeling relieved, he briefly closes his eyes and inhales. "Go on."

"Do you wish me to make rearrangements in the protection schedule, my lord? Include her in it?" The question implies no judgement. Edgar has always been loyal and would never question his decisions.

"Lisswyn is a warrior like you and I. She would not like that, and I have not made my intentions clear to her yet."

"I see."

The prince and his captain look at each other for a moment as the prince makes up his mind.

"Pick two of your most trusted men and tell them to secretly keep an extra eye on her."

"Aye, my lord. I'd suggest Wigbald and Folcred."

"Very well," Théodred nods his consent and finally walks back to the camp's bonfire.

~ S ~

It is the second tent. Swiftly, Lisswyn unwraps the straps that have to be hooked into the soft, grassy ground to hold up the tent once the two pairs of spears that serve as stanchions are placed underneath the heavy linen sheet making up the tent's roof.

The anger she felt after Théodred's outburst had subsided with the first tent, because she needed to concentrate on the task. The difficult part setting it up alone is to push the spears into an upright position after she has tightened the straps. She must do both simultaneously to not have the whole tent collapse on top of her. This happened twice with her first tent before she got the knack of putting it up alone.

Now she only feels sorry and disappointed it has come to him yelling at her. He was right on one point. Being on guard over the men's bathing, she should not have walked off without telling anyone. She should have stayed.

Pushing pegs into the grass, she hears steps approaching.

"That was a rather harsh scold you received from the king's son."

Looking up, she sees Wigbald, one of Éomer's closest friends from their years of training, crouching down in front of her.

"Let me help you."

"No," she replies, pulling the straps tight.

"Setting up a tent alone is tedious," Wigbald argues.

"I can do it."

"Let me help you," His voice is somewhat pleading.

Lisswyn's patience starts to grow thin. "I said no. This is my punishment. I will not risk another one by letting you help me."

"Then I will take it upon me."

"Why are you so keen on helping me?" she almost snaps feeling somewhat annoyed, but Wigbald remains calm.

"Because I consider you a friend."

At his revelation, Lisswyn looks up, surprised. The rider in front of her raises his eyebrows, but she does not relent.

"Still. I will do it alone," she tells him resolutely, and Wigbald tilts his head to the side and shrugs his shoulders. "As you wish."

Watching him leave, Lisswyn remembers a day at the end of her second year of training.

_It was at the midsummer festivities and Théoden king had called for horse riding competitions to celebrate his sixtieth and his son's thirtieth birthday. There were to be sword fights on horseback, spare throwing, archery and ring riding. Lisswyn planned on simply watching the competitions when Aldor came up to her, telling her he put her and Daeroch's names on the list for the ring riding. She objected at first, but Aldor finally convinced her to take part, if only to see how well Daeroch was following her orders in stressful situations. She was not sure if this was his true motive, but she had seen sense in it and reluctantly followed through._

_Four large wooden stakes had been put up on a field next to the horse corrals, tall enough to tower over a horse and its rider. All of the stakes were connected with a rope at the top, thus forming a rope rectangle in the air. On each rope sat two hooks and on each hook hung a ring. The task for the twenty four competing riders was to skewer one ring from each rope with a lance in full gallop. Two riders always started at the same time on opposite ends. The rider who could not skewer four rings was out. After every round new, smaller rings were put on the hooks for the next turn._

_After ten rounds, she and Wigbald were the last riders still in the game. Another set of rings was placed on the hooks and the king gave the signal to start._

_Daeroch jumped from standing to gallop and Lisswyn raised her lance, concentrating on the first ring. It took only seconds until her stallion reached the first rope and she skewered the ring onto her lance. Racing straight ahead to the next rope, she kept her lance upright and skewered the next, then raced around the pole to her right in a wide semi-circle to get the rings on the other two ropes._

_Wigbald did the same, and two rounds later the smallest rings were hung to the hooks. When this round ended, even again, the king declared the rider skewering all four rings first would win. Once more, the smallest rings were put up while Lisswyn and Daeroch stood at the starting line on one end of the field, facing Wigbald and his horse on the opposite side._

_Daeroch started in full gallop right from the start, but after Lisswyn skewered the first ring she did not keep on riding straight across the field. Instead she made a sharp right turn facing the rope to her right. Due to the sharp angle between her and the rope it would be more difficult to hit the ring center and skewer it on the lance, but somehow she made it._

_It was a daring move and within a second she decided to do it again, turning Daeroch in a small turn to her left. The next rope was straight ahead and she scooped the ring easily._

_For the last ring she chose a sharp turn to her left, racing around the pole and crossing the last rope in a sharp angle again. It was pure luck she skewered the fourth ring as well and she quickly raced her horse diagonally across the field and across her finish line. A long trumpet blow signalled the end of the round while Wigbald was still racing across the field towards his last rope and his finish line behind it._

_She won by one ring._

_Sitting on her horse, panting just like Daeroch, she heard the cheers from the recruits and riders who had been watching the competitions. From the corner of her eyes she caught sight of Éomer throwing a clenched fist into the air, victoriously shouting her name. A smile crept into her face as she turned her head to meet is wide grin. Her lips broke into a wide smile. It was the first time the prince showed his friendship with her so openly._

_Suddenly, Wigbald came riding up to her with his horse. The king's presence at the competition required for him to shake her hand and he reluctantly did._

_"Congratulations, tomboy," he said evenly. "Next year I'll beat you."_

_She accepted his congratulations with a polite incline of her head and a smirk to his outright challenge._

_"Perhaps you are not as bad as I thought," Wigbald added. "That would explain at least why Éomer prince seems to see something in you."_

It was the first time Wigbald showed her respect and found nice words to tell her. Their relationship stayed difficult even afterwards, but it turned from hostility to respect at least. Until his open display of sympathy tonight.

Lisswyn's thoughts move on to Éomer. Obviously he had not said a word about her getting a good look of him naked this afternoon. He is probably as embarrassed as she is. Going through what happened at the riverside, she sees his gorgeous body before her inner eyes again and her body reacts to it in a similar fashion it did earlier. Shaking her head violently, she tries to get rid of the memory, telling herself again he can never be more than what he is now: a friend.

It is pitch dark over the plains when Lisswyn finally set up the last tent. Straightening, she takes a deep breath. Her stomach growls of hunger. Everyone else has already eaten from their food rations. She thinks about grabbing a bite or two before going to the campfire in the middle of the camp where Théodred is sitting with most of the riders, but then thinks better of it. She will not risk another reprimand.

With a determined step, she enters the circle of light around the flames and stops next to where Théodred is sitting on a cloak covering the ground.

"My lord?"

He looks up to her with a stern face. It's his way of telling her she may speak.

"All tents are set up, my lord."

With a nod he accepts her report, but she does not leave as would be expected. Her heart beats in her throat and her cheeks burn. She needs to do this.

"May I speak, my lord?"

Silently, he turns his head to look at her, his face still a neutral façade, but not as stern as before.

"I wish to apologize, my lord, for wandering about without telling anyone. I didn't think it through before I left-"

As she speaks, Théodred quickly rises from where he is sitting and with a knock of his head tells her to follow him. He stops after ten yards past the circle of tents and turns to face her. His features are softer now, no anger showing.

"Why did you do it?" he asks her calmly.

"I just wished to be alone for a moment."

"It was dangerous."

"Aye, I apologize for not considering it."

"I was worried for you, Lisswyn. For your safety. I thought orcs had captured you or worse."

"I am a warrior. I am trained to defend myself."

"You would have been outnumbered, and you are not just any warrior, Lisswyn. You are my shieldmaiden."

"Yes, but even if something happened there are others who could replace me."

Théodred huffs indignantly. "No one can replace you Lisswyn."

"Of course, they can-"

"I am not talking about _what_ you are, but _who_ you are…"

With surprised, round eyes, she looks at him, her lips forming the word "who" as she tries to understand what he wishes to tell her.

"Promise me something," his deep baritone voice murmurs, "Promise me you will never walk off again alone beyond earshot and without telling at least someone where you are."

"I promise, my lord."

Her answer makes him close his eyes, nose flaring, and he clenches his jaw as he shakes his head in disapproval. When he opens his eyes again and his mouth to say something she interrupts him.

"I promise, Théodred."

She has understood.

Surprised, the heir hesitates, then his hard face softens and his look becomes gentle, caressing. He smiles.

"Thank you." His hand comes up and the fingers of his right hand brush some lose hair behind her left ear before trailing down the side of her neck.

A tingling sensation rushes through Lisswyn's chest.

His hand strokes down her left arm and he gently takes her left hand and brings it up to his mouth. Looking into her eyes, he places a soft kiss on her knuckles. When his lips no longer touch her skin she slowly tries to pull her hand away, but his grip fastens.

"I wish to apologize, too," Théodred confesses, his voice barely more than a whisper and his hand still holding hers. "I should not have yelled at you when you returned to camp. I am sorry. I overreacted."

"No, you didn't. You were right and I understand it now."

"Still, … I…," a deep sigh escapes him. "My punishment is way out of proportion to your digression. Forgive me."

He brings the back of her hand against his lips again, holding it there and holding her look for a long moment before he opens his grasp. Although her hand is free now, she does not pull it back instantly but lets it rest in his.

The corners of his lips tilt up into a soft smile.

Lisswyn's stomach uses the worst possible moment to growl of hunger again; long and loud. Embarrassed by the sound her body produces, the shieldmaiden pulls back her hand and averts her eyes.

Théodred chuckles. "Now, that was definitely not your horse, but your stomach."

"I am sorry," she puffs, laughing with him now.

"No need to be. Go fetch your food pack and join me by the fire."

"Aye."

His hand comes up again and gently squeezes her left shoulder before he places it on her back to guide her a couple of steps back to the camp.

Lisswyn notices three riders deliberately leaving the camp's edge and returning back to the fire as well. They have been keeping watch over Rohan's heir, she realises and wonders why they would not leave the task to her hands.

When Lisswyn comes to the campfire a short moment later with her food pack she notices how Théodred makes space for her on his cloak to sit next to him. Feeling the eyes of a couple of riders on her, she hesitates.

"Sit by my side, shieldmaiden," the prince tells her with a warm smile. She walks over and slowly lowers herself at his side. Is this simply to show everyone they are on good terms again? Somehow Lisswyn doubts it. Biting her lips and shifting uncomfortably on the cloak, she clumsily opens her food pack. A short sidelong glance reveals Théodred is looking at her fondly and she feels heat rising to her cheeks.

To her relief the short silence upon her arrival ends as some of the riders pick up their conversations again. After a short while, one of the riders starts to hum a low tune and soon a couple join him. Éomer is not around, Lisswyn notices to her disappointment, but is soon drawn into listening to a conversation among the riders to her right. Briefly, she catches a pointed look Merelis casts her across the fire.

~ S ~

Éomer sits on the high riverbank, his legs dangling over the edge. The camp is about twenty yards behind him. He can hear the soft murmuring and humming of the men around the fire. In front of him, the river's surface sparkles under the stars and moon. The lower banks on the Gondorian side of the river are pitch black.

He chose the moment after Lisswyn came to report that she was done setting up the tents. Théodred walked off with her for a quiet talk beyond earshot. Éomer strolled in to the opposite direction of his cousin and the first shieldmaiden to come to the high cliffs. He walked off because he could not bear seeing her after having to witness how Théodred yelled at her. Every word spoken by his cousin had been like a dagger piercing his heart.

He knows why Lisswyn wandered about. It is because of their encounter at the river. He understands why she needed to be alone. The moment had certainly been highly embarrassing for her. Yet he could not say a single word to defend her. It would have added fuel to his cousin's anger, leading to mistrust on Théodred's side after their short but plain conversation at the river where Éomer outright lied to him about his feelings for Lisswyn.

The scold and penitence Lisswyn received from Théodred hurt Éomer, and he feels guilty for not stepping to her side – again. At the same time, he feels crushed after his open declaration that he would step back. He has ripped his own heart open, torn it into pieces by doing so and every look at her brings the pain back with full force.

Thinking about his talk with Théodred by the riverside, he remembers another conversation between them ten years ago on the night after Lisswyn won the ring riding against Wigbald.

_The king called for dancing and he was sure Lisswyn would have avoided the feast had the awarding of the day's winners not been part of it. Now she stood in the middle of the great hall of Edoras with three of the sworn in riders who had been victorious in the sword fights, archery, and spear throwing competitions. The prize for all four competitions were a golden buckle with an enamel inlay showing the white horse of Rohan on a dark green background, adorned with two white gemstones on either side of the inlay._

_Lisswyn was the last to receive her prize, but the king suddenly turned around, signalling for his valet to step forward. Éomer, standing a couple of feet behind the king, next to his cousin and his sister, caught a clear view of the finer piece of jewellery his uncle's valet handed over. It was the same kind of buckle, but less clunky and heavy, a little smaller and instead of the two white gemstones the emblem was surrounded by many small green gemstones. A lady's buckle._

_When the king handed it to Lisswyn, Éomer saw her eyes widen and her lips part. Clumsily, she took it into her hands, thanking the king with a curtsey._

_After a few words regarding the day the king started the feast and Éomer quickly rushed over to Lisswyn._

_"Let me help you put this on your dress," he offered, smiling at her._

_When he had attached the jewellery to the front of her dress, he took her right hand and lightly offered, "Let us dance."_

_Her terrified reaction took him completely by surprise. Shaking her head, her eyes wide with alarm, she stepped backwards, trying to pull her hand from his._

_"Lisswyn, what is wrong?"_

_"I… I do not dance," she stuttered, still pulling her hand he held tightly now._

_Frowning, he looked at her. Somehow he ruined her night without a clue of how or why. Producing a smile on his face, he answered, "Of course you do."_

_"No, I don't," she hastily objected alarm still on her face._

_Leaning closer he whispered, "Turning down the king's nephew would be considered very impolite."_

_His remark stopped her pulling. She looked at him with worried eyes as he slowly stepped closer to her again and carefully pulled her into his arms. His left hand still held her right and he slowly started to guide her around to the slow tune of the song. He felt the tension in her body and her stiff movements._

_"I won't bite you, tomboy. It is not going to get worse than this," he tried to playfully ease her tension._

_She simply pressed her lips together, blinking and forcibly breathing. Ever so gradually, she relaxed under his touch and guidance and shortly before the song ended, her motion had become just a tad fluent._

_"It wasn't that bad now, was it?" he asked her gently, and she timidly shook her head._

_He smiled brightly. "Good. Let us take another then."_

_This time Lisswyn pulled her hand free. "No," she simply said, before she hurriedly turned around and rushed off._

_Perplexed by her quick exit, Éomer stood on the dancefloor, looking at the empty space her body left behind._

_"What have you done to chase her off like that?" his cousin's familiar voice asked close to his right ear with mirth._

_"Nothing. I just asked for another dance," he answered, still puzzled by her reaction._

_"I didn't know you were such a bad dancer."_

_He knew Théodred meant to jest, but it bothered him nonetheless. "Very funny."_

_His dry answer seemed to pique the older prince's interest. "Are you pursuing her?"_

_Puffing through his nose at the ridiculousness of Théodred's suggestion, Éomer finally turned to look at the heir._

_"Lisswyn?" he asked raising one eyebrow. "No way. She is a nice girl, but really, I mean, look at her…," he objected, gesturing with his hand to where she stood earlier in front of him. Looking back in her direction, he realised that she left the great hall for good. He turned back to face his cousin, who seemed to be amused by his answer._

_"I doubt she will ever look like a woman." The younger prince told the older with a grave face, causing his cousin to grin._

_"She is how old?"_

_"Just turned sixteen…"_

_Théodred's smirk grew wider. "She may never be as amply endowed as you like it, but she will get more womanly. You'll be surprised."_

_Éomer huffed, "As if I wish to know…"_

_Now the heir grinned openly. "You like her, don't you?"_

_"Yes. As a friend," Éomer replies, slightly annoyed by his cousin's suggestion._

_Leaning closer, the older murmurs: "If our grandmother was still alive she'd tell you this is what truly matters in a relationship. When you fall in love, they become beautiful to which none other can compare."_

Back then Éomer didn't pay Théodred's words proper account, now he knows they were true; are true.

~ S ~

After two hours by the fire listening to the riders talk and watching them retire one by one, the young rider on first watch comes to call for his relief. Swiftly, Lisswyn rises from her place at the prince's right and stretches her legs and arms to get her blood circulation going again.

"Good evening, everyone, my lord," she says, inclining her head to Théodred and the remaining riders.

"Keep a weathered eye on the plains, shieldmaiden. I'll see you in the morning," the crown prince replies gently, and a chorus of "good nights" answers her before she starts to walk to the camp's edge.

The second watch is always the most arduous one. As tiredness takes hold of her body the growing cold of the night causes Lisswyn to shiver a couple of times. To keep warm and alert, she slowly walks along the camp's edge. She notices Wigbald doing the same on the other side of the camp. Turning around to face the plains again, she remembers a night nine years ago.

_It was at the end of her third year of training, shortly before Éomer would have his final exams. The recruits of the third and fourth year were sent on a five day patrol out on the plains of Eastemnet with Aldor, and Edhild, an experienced shieldmaiden, to accompany them._

_It was in the middle of the night when a firm hand suddenly jolted her awake._

_"Lisswyn," Éomer called her gently. "Lisswyn wake up, you have to see this."_

_Still dizzy from sleeping, she followed him to a low boulder nearby._

_Quickly, the young prince climbed it. When she reached the top she saw two wild horses playing on the plains in front of them. A stallion and a mare._

_"Who do they belong to?" Éomer asked her quietly._

_"Nobody."_

_"Every horse in Rohan has an owner," he objected._

_"Those are no normal horses, Éomer," she explained. "They are Mearas. Wild horses."_

_"Are you sure about that?"_

_"Of course, I am. Look at them. They are taller than our riding horses, their necks are stronger, their backs a little shorter in comparison. It's obvious."_

_"Why are they playing here at night?" the prince asked her innocently, causing Lisswyn to chuckle softly._

_"It's called mating ritual. Éomer. The stallion is trying to win the mare's affection."_

_"So they will mate tonight?" Éomer sounded exited._

_"Maybe tonight, maybe tomorrow, maybe not at all. It depends," Lisswyn stated, shrugging her shoulders._

_"Depends on what?"_

_"If the mare is ready for it and likes the stallion."_

_"Whether it's animals or humans, it's always the female who decides," Éomer sounded slightly amused._

_Lisswyn turned her head sharply into his direction. "Don't be so stupid," she snapped._

_Her sudden outburst took him completely by surprise. Blinking heavily, he muttered, "But it's the truth."_

_"No it is not."_

_"Yes it is. If a man likes a woman he asks for permission to court her and she gets to decide, then he asks for her hand and she gets to decide. Even on their wedding day she is asked before the bond is made."_

_Fuming with anger, Lisswyn glared at him. "Perhaps it is that way in your perfect little world at court. But it certainly is not for a commoner."_

_Her reply confused him. "That's how everyone does it in Rohan," he objected, insecurity in his voice._

_"You are such a fool, prince," she spat. "It is not how people do it out there on the plains," she barks, pointing to the north where the Wold lay. "Out there, daughters have no say. Marriages are arranged for them. If they are lucky, they have met their husbands twice before the wedding night. Now don't tell me they enjoy sharing the bed with a complete stranger for the very first time."_

_Her voice had risen to yelling level towards the end and the two recruits stared at each other, the women raging with anger, the man struck by her outburst and the words she said._

_"Stop it," a sharp command from behind made them both jump, "Before you wake everybody with your needless argument." It was Aldor who had come to the top of the boulder. "Lisswyn, go back to your bedroll, Éomer you are on watch, go back to your post," he commanded them sharply._

_Her nose flaring, Lisswyn stormed off towards her bedroll._

_The next morning when she woke, her anger from last night had subsided, but she was still mad at Éomer for his foolish views. As she walked over to the camp's fire to get some of the hot water for a morning tea, Edhild quietly approached her._

_"May I have a word with you, Lisswyn?" she asked her._

_"Of course, what is the matter?"_

_"I overheard you conversation with Éomer prince last night."_

_"Oh," feeling caught, she cast down her eyes. "I apologize, we did not mean to wake everybody."_

_"That's not what I wanted to talk to you about. I wanted to tell you, he is correct. In Edoras and Aldburg, and certainly in most of the larger settlements as well, the women get to choose whom they marry. Usually it is a bond of love."_

_Lisswyn raised her head and looked at Edhild wide-eyed and the older woman continued, "I can only talk about my wedding night, but… I actually shared my husband's bed freely."_

_"You did?" Lisswyn asked her amazed by the information._

_"Yes, and it was a wonderful experience."_

_"But it is said to…."_

_"Hurt?" Edhild smiled gently. "Perhaps a little, but not much really. Since most of the men do not enter a marriage unexperienced, they know what to do to make the consummation a pleasure for the woman as well."_

_"You mean the men have….?" Lisswyn was astounded._

_"…been sharing their bed with a woman before. Yes. Most have."_

_"When? With whom?"_

_Lisswyn's innocent question caused Edhild to laugh lightly. "Take the riders for instance. Where do they go after patrols?"_

_"To the taverns in town."_

_"Most of them have a brothel upstairs."_

_"Oh!" Realization hits her._

_"Most of the men who speak their oath when they become a rider of Rohan have been to one or more of those taverns already."_

_Lisswyn's eyes widened with surprise. "You mean, they…." Her eyes darted over to where Éomer sat by the fire with his food package and ate his breakfast._

_"I don't know about the young prince, but I am sure most of those who are with us on patrol have."_

_Lisswyn was confused. "Why do you tell me all of this?"_

_"Because I like you."_

_The teenage girl swallowed._

_"I believe you when you say a wedding for a common girl of the plains is different, but don't judge Éomer for speaking about things he doesn't completely understand."_

_"Yes. I… I will apologize later."_

_"He really is your friend it seems, he did not mean to upset you."_

_"I know. Thank you."_

_With a bland smile, Edhild sent Lisswyn on her way._

_For the whole day, she and Éomer avoided looking at each other. Only after they had made camp for the night again did she hesitantly approached the young prince. He was sitting in the grass a couple of yards away from the others._

_"Éomer?"_

_A very faint smile and a nod of his head were his sole response._

_"May I?" Lisswyn gestured towards the ground next to him._

_"Aye."_

_Sitting down, she looked at him, but his stern face remained turned towards the open plains. He was angry with her, or perhaps waiting for what she had to say…_

_"I am sorry, Éomer. I am sorry I yelled at you. It was not right. I… I didn't know marriages in the towns are so differently from those on the plains."_

_His eyes shifted from the far horizon to the ground in front of him as he nodded again._

_"I wish to apologize," Lisswyn continued._

_"You do not need to, Lisswyn. It was partly my fault as well. I didn't wish to upset you so."_

_"You didn't mean to. You couldn't know…," she trailed off as he turned his head to face her._

_"Were you promised to someone?"_

_For a long moment she did not answer. Her lips pressed tightly together, she averted her eyes and swallowed. "Aye. I was."_

_"How could you enter the training then?"_

_"My father called the arrangement off after I told him I wished to become a shieldmaiden."_

_Éomer's eyes searched her face, but she still avoided his look._

_"Just like that?"_

_Shaking her head slightly, she answered. "No, my father was forced to pay the bride price to get me out of it." She felt a weight pressing on her chest. It was the first time she'd spoke of it._

_"How much was it?"_

_"I do not know exactly, but he will be in debt for many years to come, even if I can help him pay it off once I get salaries for my duties as shieldmaiden."_

_"Did you know the man you were supposed to marry?"_

_"I met him once, very briefly at the horse fair, when our fathers made the arrangement." Breathing became harder._

_"Would you have grown to love him?" Empathy lay in Éomer's voice._

_She swallowed hard and her eyes darted about as she fought down the oncoming memories._

_"I do not believe so."_

_"But you would have been required to… share his bed?"_

_"Aye." She bit on the insides of her cheeks to keep herself from crying while the prince studied her face intensely._

_"I am glad your father allowed you to come to Edoras instead." He took her hand and squeezed it affectionately._

_Blinking heavily to avoid tears welling up in her eyes, she forced a smile on her face. "Me, too."_

_Finally her gaze shifted to meet his again. Tears were in her eyes, but she blinked them away._

_"Are we good again?"_

_"Aye"_

_With his left arm around her shoulder, he pulled her closer, until she leaned against his side._

* * *

**Leave a review, please.**

 


	7. The greatest honour

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you, to all of you who are still with me and this story.
> 
> As you have probably noticed I described the lands along the Anduin in the south and in Westemnet as mostly farmland and Eastemnet and the Wold as grassland. This is quite obviously in contrast to how Peter Jackson made west-Rohan look like in his movies. But I have good reasons for this. You can find them on youtube.com/watch?v=GYaoKHGP0dc
> 
> Also, please, leave a review. It helps so much when writing!
> 
> A special thank you to my wonderful beta Scribe of the fanciful, my amazing writing buddy and inspiration Polly, and my feedback-partner JJ. Your time and work are highly appreciated. Without you this story would not be here!
> 
> As per usual: I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

 

**The greatest honour**

_"_ _Now enter your watchwoman_  
_I'll be your keeper for life as your guardian_  
_I'll be your warrior of care your first warden_  
_I'll be your angel on call, I'll be on demand_  
_The greatest honor of all, as your guardian"_ (Alanis Morissette)

* * *

A firm, gentle grip to her upper arm jolts Lisswyn awake the next morning. Fear rushes through her veins. Are they being attacked? Blinking frantically against the early morning light, she looks up to meet grey-blue eyes.

"What is it?" she asks under her breath, still fighting to wake up.

A warm mug with her herbal tea is gently pressed into her hand.

"Nothing. I just came to wake you early in case you wish to take a bath in the river before we leave."

Looking from the mug to Théodred's face, Lisswyn tries to get a grip of what is going on and calm her nerves.

"Did you brew my tea for me?"

"Yes. Of course. Who else?"

"I… I don't know. I wondered who it was the last two days…," she trails off, realizing it had not been Éomer, but Théodred who was her secret provider. Of course it was him. She had taken a liking in this special tea only little more than a year ago. Éomer wouldn't know about it. Before then chamomile or rosehip were her morning drinks of choice.

"Thank you," she says quietly before a question comes to her mind. "Do you have a blend of it with you?"

Théodred smiles at her, nodding once. "Aye."

"Why? I mean how?"

"Do you remember our patrol to the fords of Isen shortly before I resettled to the Hornburg?"

Lisswyn silently nods as her mind returns to those days shortly before her birthday in Lótessë.

"I asked you about the blend of your tea back then," the prince continues, still smiling. "I bade the kitchen mistress at Aldburg to make a pouch for me before we left three days ago."

Surprised by Théodred's confession, Lisswyn looks at the prince, her mind spinning around his last words, searching his eyes and hoping for clarification.

He simply smiles at her softly. "Do you wish me to stand guard while you take a dip?"

"I can take Merelis and Wilrun with me, they didn't get to bathe yesterday either because of my foolish behaviour."

"Hurry up, then. I will order Folcred to stand guard for all three of you on the other side of the grove."

Ten minutes later the three shieldmaidens are on the river's bank underneath the copse undressing. As Lisswyn pulls down her underclothes a small brownish red stain greets her.

"S'blood," she mumbles. Wilrun hears her nonetheless.

"What is it?"

"My rose days are coming," the first shieldmaiden grumbles.

"Do you have strips of rabbit fur with you?"

"Yes, but only four."

"You can wash them in the evening and dry them over night." Wilrun's words are muffled by her pulling off her tunic.

"They will not dry in these cold nightly temperatures unless I put them around the fire…"

"Not really an option with all the men around," her friend comments dryly. "I have four with me as well, you can use them. I already had my days before we left the Hornburg."

"Thank you."

"Let's go take the dip," Wilrun quickly changes the subject and the two women plunge into the water with Merelis joining them after a short moment.

When they return to camp a quarter of an hour later, the riders are already breaking up camp. The shieldmaidens' tent lies wrapped up next to Wilrun's saddlebags and their bedrolls are rolled up as well.

"We took too long," Lisswyn murmurs to her friends. "Hurry up." Quickly the first shieldmaiden rushes to where she had been sleeping the last hours of the night next to the dying flames of the fire, only to find her things already packed and placed next to her saddlebags. Feeling the guilt of delaying everybody, she swiftly stuffs her remaining things into her bags. To her surprise she finds Daeroch bridled and saddled up, his reins in one of Théodred's hands. With the other the prince holds his own stallion's reins.

"I am sorry for delaying you, my lord," she tells him as she straps her bags to her saddle.

"It's alright, Lisswyn. You had a short night," he replies smiling softly. "We are following the orc tracks Merelis found yesterday. We have to make sure they did not harm the people living in this area and bring them down."

With a sharp incline of her head, Lisswyn acknowledges his order. It was only a couple of years ago that bands of orcs from Mordor started to raid Eastemnet stealing every black horse they could find. Her own family lost a stallion and two mares to the beasts during one summer out in the Wold. Recalling how her father told her about the raid she swiftly mounts Daeroch. Three minutes later the company is on its way.

For the whole day a vanguard of riders tracks the orcs, while the rest of the company stops at each dwelling. Théodred listens to the people and the stories they tell of the black riders. Lisswyn is always two steps behind him guarding the heir. To her is seems as if the reports about the riders are all basically the same. Whether by coincidence or not, the orc tracks lead to the Eastwall of Rohan in the north and along the shores of the Anduin and Nen Hithoel, just the way Théodred intends to ride. None of the families have been raided by the orcs yet nor did any of them notice the beasts travelling past. Their tracks always seem to lead around the farms and settlements as if to avoid contact with the dwellers.

In the afternoon the company reaches a small settlement just south of the falls of Rauros. The four families of fishermen were not as lucky as the others. Already from a furlong away the riders see smoke rising from the houses' windows and roofs. Five men come running, armed with forks and bows, shouting as if to attack the company.

"Guard the heir," Lisswyn commands her shieldmaidens, unsheathing her sword and urging her stallion forward to block the running men from reaching Théodred head on. Merelis and Wilrun quickly pull up to stand with their horses to his right and left, swords drawn, while the riders quickly circle around the fishermen and close in on them. Spears and a few arrows pointed at the attackers ends the commotion as quickly as it started.

"Put your weapons down, it's Théodred, the king's son!" Éomer shouts at the fishermen. Fear of punishment is clear on their faces as realization hits them. They were about to attack their own people and even worse their future king.

"Forgive us, my lords. We did not recognize you!" the leader of the five hastily speaks up, his voice shaking, as the men lower their weapons.

Théodred however does not seem concerned by this. "Who are you and what happened here?" Théodred calls at the fishermen as the riders slowly open the circle around the men again.

From behind a boulder at the lake's shore, another man and a group of women, children and elders appear and hesitantly walk towards the company. After a quick round of introductions the eldest of the men tells the king's son of the orc's raid only hours before, "They were about thirty, my lord. They came around noon. We escaped them with our boats, but when we returned our kettle and food supplies were stolen and our houses burning."

"They were very tall and obviously unbothered by the sun," a younger man adds.

Théodred and his captain exchange a telling look and from the corner of his eye the prince notices how Lisswyn's head snaps up and turns in his direction as well. This does not sound like the usual band of orcs, but quite similar to those who started attacking Rohan's west a couple of weeks ago.

At Théodred's order the company dismounts and most riders quickly help to put out the fires while Merelis, Wilrun and Éomer keep a watch on the surroundings for possible new threats. Théodred continues his questioning about the black riders with Lisswyn and a few of his closest men at his side for protection.

"The riders came past here a good five weeks ago. It was around sunset. You'd have to ask old Fréa here, he was outside when they came," the leader of the small group of fishermen explains.

The addressed man, stricken with old age and relying on a walking stick for support steps hesitantly forward. His face is lined. His once proud beard has vanished into a wispy white stubble, and his mouth is sunken from lacking a good number of teeth.

"They were four, my lord," he recounts with a slight lisp and a cracking voice. "Shortly before they came I felt a cold rushing in as if a heavy mist was coming, but the sky was clear. A wind blew through the underbrush around our houses and rippled the lake's surface. I thought summer had turned into winter within a second. The cold grew as they came over the boulder where your company came from earlier." With an arthritic finger, the old man points to the south and Théodred follows his motion before telling him to continue with a short nod of his head.

"It became darker when they came and I heard whispers in the wind. An ancient language I did not understand. They were all clad in black breeches and black cloaks with wide hoods hiding their faces and heavy metal boots. Even their horses were black and bore black metal armour. Beasts of darkness they were. I have seen much in my life, my lord, but I never felt so frightened as I did in the moment the riders came towards me. I bade my heart stop beating, but it did not yield my plea." The old man shivers at his own words and takes a pause looking at the king's son with watery eyes. Another soft nod of Théodred's head lets him continue.

"One of the riders asked me for a Halfling by the name of Baggins and a place called Shire. His voice was like metal scratching on ice. It pained my ears, and you have to believe me my lord, nothing pains ears as old and deaf as mine easily. After I told him we do not know any Halflings and the closest we know of live at the Gladden Fields they hastily took off to the north." This time the arthritic finger points in the opposite direction.

"Thank you, master Fréa," Théodred acknowledges the old man's recount with a polite incline of his head and after a short moment motions for the first shieldmaiden to follow him a couple of yards to the side with his guards remaining behind a few of steps.

"What do you think?" he asks her.

Perplexed by his question Lisswyn looks at him. "My lord?"

"You heard all the reports that were made today. What do you think?" He is asking for her thoughts like he has done multiple times in the past two years.

"We have to hunt down the orcs who raided these families."

"We will. What about the riders?"

"What is the Shire?" she asks back.

"It is a place far to the West."

Lisswyn takes a moment to consider the new information before she replies, "From what we heard I would say they pose no immediate threat to Rohan or its people as long as they are not Halflings. Yet it is against our law to let strangers roam around at will in our land until the king gives them leave to do so. I would advise to find them and let them explain their purpose and whom they serve and not let them ride through your realm freely any longer."

"They are servants of the Black Lands," Théodred states flatly.

"Mordor?" horror lies in the shieldmaiden's voice.

"Dark times are coming upon us, Lisswyn. I may be forced to …"

"To?"

Shaking his head Théodred draws in breath. "We talk about this later."

The prince forces a smile on his face that soon turns into a real one as he looks at the first shieldmaiden. Gently he takes her right hand and lifts it to his lips. "Thank you for your thoughts, my lady."

Turning to his men, who have finished putting out the fires and are waiting by their horses, he calls, "We make for Amon Hen for the night." Thanking the fishermen for their reports and wishing them good fortune for rebuilding their dwellings, he walks over to Brego and mounts his stallion.

Lisswyn stares at his back. His behaviour is irritating. First he treats her like an advisor, a seasoned warrior, then he treats her like a noble lady of the court, something he has never done before but now five times within a week. Why?

It cannot mean he wishes to court her, can it? It is customary to declare the wish for courtship first, and of course it is as Wilrun said: the prince would never court a commoner. When she told him about her fear of being mistaken for his mistress he outright denied this as well. Since that evening he has never again charmed her with compliments or misleading offers, but the lines of friendship have been crossed many times during the past few days. Nothing Théodred does makes sense to Lisswyn anymore. Shaking her head in confusion, the shieldmaiden walks back to her stallion and mounts Daeroch.

The company leaves the settlement in haste and in a fast gallop cover the undulating lands that mark the beginning of the Eastwall of Rohan and shield Nen Hithoel from the great green plains of the Riddermark. A little more than an hour later the company rides up the hill of the old watch tower of Amon Hen.

They make camp at the ruins of the old watch tower a good hour before dusk. While most riders are occupied setting up their tents, Lisswyn walks over to Théodred.

"My lord, may I go to the lake and… clean myself?"

Surprise shows on the prince's face. "Again? You already bathed this morning."

"Yes." She lowers her eyes, highly embarrassed that she will have to reveal the reason behind her wish. "I… I am having my rose days," she mumbles, only just loud enough for him to hear.

When understanding hits him Théodred briefly closes his eyes and softly shakes his head.

"I am sorry. Of course you may," he tenderly tells her. Her face still slightly turned to the side and avoiding his eyes, she thanks him before walking off.

Théodred watches her back, dreading the promise he asked her to give last night had forced her to share such private information. "Bloody fool!" he mumbles to himself.

"My lord?" Edgar asks him curiously.

"Nothing, I was just cursing myself." The heir turns to face the captain whose gaze is on Lisswyn's back.

"Do you wish me to follow and guard her, my lord?"

Nodding the prince replies. "Yes, but make sure she does not notice you."

"Aye, my lord."

As the captain walks past him, Théodred's recalls why he made Edgar his first captain: he is loyal beyond measure and his perception of almost unnoticeable things is exceptional. He does seem to be rather protective of Lisswyn, too. Perhaps he would be a good choice for the future princess' personal guard?

When Lisswyn returns to camp a quarter of an hour later, the twelve travelling tents are set up underneath the ruins with a warm bonfire burning in the middle. She scans the area for Éomer. For three days now her old friend avoided her, ignored her. Riding in the first line of the company next to Théodred with Lisswyn diagonally behind him, the Marshal of Aldburg did not once look in her direction, only straight on or to his left. Every time they made camp he quickly walked the other way and chose a place to sit at the opposite end of the campsite. Multiple times she tried to make eye contact, but he deliberately looked the other way. Why, the first shieldmaiden cannot wrap her head around.

Undeniably their encounter at the mouth of the Entwash had been highly embarrassing for both of them and she did not have the courage to face him the night before. Yet now she not only wishes to talk to him again as a friend and find out why he has turned his back on her. Above all she wishes to apologize for this particular moment – to tell him she did not mean to peep and that she was sorry for it. It is about time they talked, she concludes. This time she will not rely on good chance, but seek him out.

To her relief she finds the younger prince sitting on one of the old watch tower's ruined walls by himself. Best to do it now. Swiftly she approaches him.

"May I give you company?" she asks him innocently. He looks past her down the hill and towards the camp, ignoring her request.

Lisswyn does not let it deter her. "I wish to apologize for... for watching you after your bath in the river-"

"No need to," Éomer quickly interrupts her, his voice flat and cold. His behaviour stings, but Lisswyn decides to leave it without a comment.

"What ails you?" she inquires gently instead, leaning against the wall next to where he is sitting.

A deep forceful sigh is her only answer. Still he avoids looking at her.

"Éomer? What is it? Tell me…," Lisswyn pleads and finally his eyes come to rest on her face. They look sad, plagued.

"It's nothing, Lisswyn," he murmurs, but the shieldmaiden can tell he is lying again.

"Of course there is, Éomer. I know you. Don't lie to me. What have I done?"

The prince inhales heavily and swallows. "Nothing. You are your wonderful self you always have been," he admits bitterly.

"Then why do you evade me?" she pleads again.

"I cannot talk about it, Lisswyn."

"Why not? We always talked about everything, even fighting if necessary…," her voice is almost cracking.

Éomer grinds his teeth a moment before he answers with a coarse voice, "I'm sorry. I really can't. Not this time." Abruptly he jumps off the wall and walks past her back to camp, leaving her alone at the ruins with a heavy heart.

A soft scratching sound above Lisswyn's head calls for her attention. On top of the watch tower the slender tall silhouette of Wilrun appears and with her right hand waves Lisswyn to join her on her watch post. Lisswyn climbs the old ruined stairs and comes to stand next to her friend.

"Are the two of you at odds?" the tall woman asks her.

"I… I don't know. We did not argue or anything. He is just evading me and I do not know why."

"You seemed rather close only days ago when he came for you at Aldburg."

"He came for me?"

"On our first evening after we bathed. He brought us spare blankets… to me you looked almost like lovebirds who haven't confessed their feelings for each other yet." A cheeky smile appears on Wilrun's face.

"Lovebirds?" Lisswyn sounds baffled and her mind turns to the late afternoon the day before on the river banks… Éomer's stripped body in the low sunlight and the feelings and thoughts it had caused in her. Lovebirds… Is this what she feels? Love? Confused by her own thoughts and feelings and what they might imply, she blinks.

"You like him, don't you?" Wilrun asks, smiling at her.

"Yes, I do," she admits softly. "But I am sure … I don't know. He is so different ever since Aldburg. He… evades me like I am a pest."

Wilrun gently squeezes her right shoulder. "Maybe he is confused by all the attention Théodred is giving you."

"Why should it confuse him? There is nothing to it."

Tilting her head to the side Wilrun draws breath through her teeth. "If he… does see more in you than just a friend then Théodred's flirting… would at least put him off."

"But you said yourself a prince of Rohan would never marry a commoner like you or me," Lisswyn objects confused by Wilrun's sudden change of opinion.

"I know I said this, but then I saw the look he gave you at Aldburg… maybe those rules do not apply to him?"

"You think, he…?"

"Perhaps." Wilrun shrugs her shoulders once.

"Then how do I fix this? I mean… if he avoids me because of Théodred?"

"Do you wish for Éomer to court you?" Wilrun asks her curiously.

"I don't know," Lisswyn admits.

"I am afraid I don't know what to do either." Wilrun shakes her head apologizing. "Maybe Éowyn could help?"

At her best friend's name Lisswyn's eyes dart up to meet Wilrun's.

"If Théodred gives us leave to go to the horse fair, you should ask her," the older woman offers.

Silently, Lisswyn nods and takes in a deep breath. "I worry for her."

"Éowyn?"

Lisswyn nods once more before she explains, "She is the last one of us at Meduseld. I wonder how she copes."

"Seeing her uncle sick is certainly hard for her."

"Yes, it is, but that's not what I meant."

Wilrun frowns, but before she can ask, Lisswyn elaborates, "She is alone at Meduseld with Gríma and his guards. There is the king, of course, but he cannot save her." Lisswyn shudders at the memory, "Wormtongue… he is a salacious fiend. His eyes are full of lust when he looks at her. It's repellent."

"The gobermouch?" Wilrun asks, astounded.

"He is much more cunning than we thought at first," Lisswyn says. "I hope he does not convince the king to promise a marriage between them."

Wilrun's eyes widen. "You think he would do that?"

"I don't know, but I swear, if he ever touches Éowyn without her consent, I will kill him!"

The two women look at each other, fierce determination in Lisswyn's eyes, shock and worry in Wilrun's, before they fall into a brooding silence, unaware of being watched from afar.

At the camp fire Théodred's eyes trail the smaller figure of the woman who has captured his heart. He had realized this only few weeks before he resettled to the Hornburg. But when had it started? His thoughts wander back to when he asked Lisswyn for advice the first time. It was almost two years ago, shortly before yule. Éomer had been appointed Marshal of Aldburg and moved to the king's city of old a couple of weeks before.

_Théodred knew his cousin and Lisswyn were close friends. On many nights the two sat together in the great hall with some of the younger princes' male friends and the other shieldmaidens, jesting, playing dice or simply talking. On numerous occasions Théodred joined them at a late hour, after his father had retired for the day. On more than one of those nights he had found Lisswyn had a sharp mind and passed well founded judgement on many subjects._

_Back then Théodred often confided in his younger cousin, asking for his thoughts on military matters or discussing with him how to organize patrols and others things. Together the two watched with concern how Gríma slowly but steadily rose to become the chief advisor at his father's court._

_After Éomer left Théodred missed the conversations with him and after a time, he grew tired of brooding over difficult matters all by himself and started asking the first shieldmaiden for her opinion._

_He had a heated argument with his father about an urgent request from Erkenbrand. The Marshal of Helm's Deep had sent a message asking for new swords and shields for his men to keep up Rohan's safety against the ever-growing number of orcs and Dunlendings coming from the west and north. Of course his father's advisor Gríma Wormtongue spoke against it and his father heeded Gríma's advice over Erkenbrand's and Théodred's plea._

_Storming out of the great hall, the first shieldmaiden at his heels as usual, the crown prince suddenly burst out swearing. "What a stubborn foll of an ill-advised dotard-king." It was loud enough for Lisswyn to hear him. When he realized, he quickly turned around. "I am sorry, that was inappropriate."_

_She had not expected him to address her and looked at him with big round eyes. "My lord?"_

_"I said, I am sorry, my words were inappropriate." He repeated calmly, but the shieldmaiden still looked puzzled._

_"I did not listen, my lord."_

_"How could you not listen, I was almost yelling?" he asked her bewildered and frowned._

_"I heard you yell, my lord, but I chose to not pay any attention to your words since I assumed they were not meant for me to hear."_

_"Just like that?" Théodred doubted._

_"Aye, my lord. It is not that hard after a while. I am used to not listening."_

_For a long moment they looked each other in the eye. There was no falsehood in hers, he realized, and a thought struck him. She had chosen a life as his protecting shadow – someone who would always be present and at his side, or rather two steps behind him, but never really recognized by the people around him. The question coming up with the thought he asked aloud._

_"Why have you decided to become a shieldmaiden, Lisswyn?"_

_"Because it is an honour, my lord."_

_"An honour?" he asked incredulously._

_"Aye, my lord."_

_"What is honourable about having to always follow me around, but never being allowed to take part? In watching and hearing me talk to other people, but not being allowed to listen, much less to comment? Isn't it tiresome?"_

_"No. I… I am protecting Rohan's heir. I… I serve my home, lord and land. That's what I have sworn… only few are allowed to do this…. and I do get to see and know a lot about this realm and Arda, that I normally would not if I still was only a horse breeder's daughter."_

_"So you are listening?" A smirk spread on the prince's face and Lisswyn's look turned rattled._

_Her answer was spoken in hastened, hushed words._ _"I… I am sorry, my lord. You have to believe me, I would never dare to talk about things I hear, much less to comment on them or place judgement upon anything if not asked."_

_Théodred's face softened into an open smile. "Well, how about you share your thoughts for once?" he offered kindly._

_"My lord?"_

_"Your thoughts – what do you think about the discussion I just had with my father?"_

_The shieldmaiden hesitated for a moment, her eyes darting about before looking at him again._

_"I must speak openly, my lord?" her voice was firm._

_"That is what I asked you."_

_She straightened her back and raised her chin slightly before speaking again. "Gríma is a manipulative, manky bespawler who has way too much influence over your father… the king."_

_He chuckled at her answer. "It is alright. You may call him my father. That's what he is, right?"_

_"He is my king," she emphasized, keeping a straight face, which caused another chuckle on his part._

_"Aye, well…," the heir regained his composure and stepped a little closer to keep his next words as private and secret as possible. His voice was barely more than a whisper. "Honestly. What am I to do? I am afraid we won't get rid of Gríma so easily. How can I make my father see reason in Erkenbrand's plea for new weapons? Every time I argue with him over something like this, Gríma intervenes and convinces him it is not necessary despite all the reports we receive. Tell me, am I overreacting or is there something foul to Gríma's advice?"_

_The first shieldmaiden obviously understood his intention. Quickly looking around to ensure nobody was listening, she answered as discretely._

_"I dare say he does not have Rohan's best interests in mind, but given your father's trust in him, you should find a way of circumventing his orders without making it obvious."_

_"And do what?" he curiously looked at her._

_"You could go to Helm's Deep arguing you wish to see for yourself if Erkenbrand exaggerates in his reports. Make the king and Gríma believe you doubt the Marshal's judgement. Before you set off, have your men take new equipment from the armoury and leave their personal weapons at Edoras for once. When you are at the Hornburg have them exchange their equipment with Erkenbrand's men and bring the old gear with you back to Edoras to get it refreshed."_

_"That would be close to treason…"_

_"Is it your fault if your men confuse their equipment at the Hornburg armoury, my lord?"_

_Her mockingly innocent question together with her raised eyebrows sent him smirking._

_"What a cunning woman I have at my side. Do I need to be more careful when you are around?" he teasingly asked her back, but Lisswyn did not get his jest._

_"Are you questioning my allegiance, my lord?"_

_Shaking his head lightly to ease her worry he explained, "I am just wondering what is going on in your head when you do not speak up…"_

_The shieldmaiden however was still on defence. "I shared thoughts because you asked for my advice, my lord. Normally I would never dare to think something like this."_

_"What a pity…," he half teased her again._

_"I beg your pardon?" she asked confused._

_"I just came to realize I find your thoughts very… inspiring and helpful."_

_"Thank you, my lord," she replied, baffled._

_"Can we agree on something?" Upon her questioning look, the prince continued. "Whenever you feel you have an opinion to share either privately or openly in a given conversation, could you clear your throat to let me know?"_

_Surprise showed on her face and he raised his eyebrows to emphasize his request._

_"As you wish, my lord," she consented, confusion still showing in her voice._

_"Good." With a small nod of his head he approved. "We will ride to Helm's Deep tomorrow morning. Be prepared, shieldmaiden."_

_"I will, my lord."_

_Their ride to the Hornburg had been unspectacular. On a patrol to the Westmarch beyond the northern rims of the White Mountains they fought back two bands of Dunlendings invading Rohan's territory, and on their way back they found fresh orc tracks near the fords of Isen. It was not overly alarming, but before they started their journey back to Edoras the prince and the Marshal met at the fortress' study to talk about patrol intervals and a possible set up of a post in the Westmarch. Théodred made sure the first shieldmaiden was present for the meeting as well._

_"To keep up our defences like this I need more men and new armour and weapons," Erkenbrands stressed once more, towards the end of their discussion._

_"I know," Théodred conceded. "I just do not know if we can get away with this scheme a second time. If I keep travelling to Helm's Deep every week, especially during winter, it will raise suspicion."_

_"I understand, my lord. I just doubt we will be able to keep the Dunlendings at bay for long if we do not get proper attire from Edoras."_

_"I can only try to talk to my father again."_

_A harrumph from behind his back caught Théodred's attention. Turning around he noticed the Marshal's gaze had shifted to the woman who stood close to the study's door as well._

_"May I speak, my lord?" Lisswyn asked self-consciously._

_"You may," he told her encouragingly._

_"You could send out an éored with extra men, let's say one hundred and forty, to meet a patrol from the Hornburg somewhere in Westemnet. Have them exchange weapons and spoiled armour there, but only the éored returns to Edoras. The extra men will join Erkenbrand's men instead and take post at the Westmarch."_

_"It will be noticed if men are missing," the prince pointed out._

_"Do we have men from the Westmarch at Edoras?"_

_"A couple, yes."_

_"They could officially seek permission to go home for yule."_

_"So if the king grants it they simply ride home? Sounds like something we might get through with."_

_"And nobody will argue against it if they organize a defence of the Westmarch on their own."_

_"But they cannot all ride together."_

_"Split the plan then, have the éored meet with the Marshal's men at Westemnet and let the men of the Westmarch ride home individually or in smaller groups."_

_"Yes, this could work, at least until the end of winter when the extra men are expected back at Edoras. We will try it. Thank you"_

_Lisswyn inclined her head shortly and fell back into silence._

_Erkenbrand listened to their conversation quietly and waited until the prince made his decision before he very lowly and calmly addressed Théodred again, "May I have a word with you in private, my lord?"_

_The heir looked at him for a moment before he turned towards the shieldmaiden again, "Lisswyn, wait outside."_

_When she had closed the door behind her he asked, "What is it?"_

_"I find it rather unusual that you let your shieldmaiden take part in your… councils," Erkenbrand phrased his astonishment and disapprobation cautiously._

_"Hers was a brilliant idea, don't you think?" Théodred chose to ignore the undertone._

_"Yes, but she is a shieldmaiden…"_

_"And a smart one," the prince emphasized, but Erkenbrand was still not ready to consent._

_"How do you know we can trust her?"_

_Théodred huffed disbelieving but also a little amused before he answered his Marshal's question, "I have trusted her to guard me for more than five years now. I never had any reasons to mistrust her. Neither do you, I believe?"_

_"No, but it is unusual."_

_Erkenbrand's perception of women's roles in society started to grate on the prince's nerves. "Get used to it then. I find her thoughts and judgements helpful. I believe I come to see more in her than just my guard."_

_Bewilderment was written all over Erkenbrand's face at the prince's answer. "Like what, my lord?"_

_"More of a confident…. A friend," Théodred replied patiently._

_"A friend?" the Marshal murmured for himself before he nodded, obviously thinking about his prince's last words. With a sharp intake of breath he suddenly straightened and replied, "Alright, then I will."_

Théodred smirks at the memory. Looking back, it had probably been on that afternoon that he had begun to fall for the first shieldmaiden. He just had not been aware of it at the time, unlike Erkenbrand.

Despite his disapproval of her being Théodred's advisor, the Marshal of Helm's Deep had obviously noticed Lisswyn was to become more over time. His attitude towards the first shieldmaiden changed gradually, until he even complemented her sharp mind and talked about her with praise when she would not hear it. When the prince resettled to the Hornburg without her three months ago, Erkenbrand reacted not only surprised, but disappointed, too. When the prince revealed his plan to marry Lisswyn a good week ago, he knew Erkenbrand would approve.

~ S ~

The next day the company travels north through the deep vale in between the two tumbled ridges of the western Emyn Muil. In this undulating karst landscape with its gullies and ravines, there are no settlements and they make good ground without stopping once during the day. A short hour before sunset, the vale leads them back to the Anduin at Sarn Gebir. At a larger clearing on the banks above the rapids they make camp for the night. By the time all the tents are set up, all horses tended to and a bonfire is burning in the camp's centre, it is already pitch dark around them.

After Lisswyn and her shieldmaiden friends have shared their food rations for supper, the first shieldmaiden walks over to where the horses are racked up to see to her stallion again.

A couple of minutes later, Théodred joins her. Standing next to Daeroch's head he ruffles the horse's forelock and takes a long glance at the first shieldmaiden.

Having noticed his presence, she starts to smile before turning towards him. "Can I be of service, my lord?" she asks him, purposefully using his title with a mocking tone while some of the riders are close enough to hear them.

Giving her a loving smile, the prince replies, "I just thought sometimes I envy him for all the attention he gets from you."

"Daeroch?" she laughs. "He was my first foal…"

"I know, you already told me this story."

With the back of her left hand holding a currycomb, she brushes a strand of hair away from her face leaving a dirt smear on her cheek.

"I really feel a connection with him," she elaborates.

"Yes, I can tell."

Théodred's eyes shift slightly from her eyes to her cheek and back. His right hand comes up and stops just inches from her face. "Permit me?"

"What is it?" she asks surprised.

"You have a little dust on your…," he points with his fingers to the smear.

Quickly, Lisswyn brushes her face again and is rewarded with a warm chuckle on Théodred's side. "It's even worse now. Let me help you."

His hand comes up and with his calloused thumb he strokes her cheek four times before his eyes come back to hers. His thumb still against her cheek, his movement ceases for a moment before the stroking turns into a soft caressing with his other fingers touching her jawline and neck now.

The urge to lean down and kiss her feels overwhelming, but he resists it, swallowing hard. 'Not now,' he tells himself. 'It would be too soon, too bold.' Slowly he pulls his hand away, still holding her gaze.

Lisswyn's heart drums feverishly in her throat and a sensation close to an electric thunderstorm rummages her stomach. Her breath is slightly shaky. Has he been close to kissing her just seconds ago? It felt as if he was…

Suddenly Lisswyn's right arm and part of her upper body is shoved forward by a strong love tap from behind. The shieldmaiden ignores it, but her stallion does not accept it and pushes her again with the back of his nose.

"I believe he is jealous," Théodred teases her with a soft laugh.

Lisswyn laughs as well, but it is a tense one.

"Give him all your attention again, shieldmaiden. I don't wish to compete with a horse."

Stepping backwards two steps before turning around Théodred makes his way back to the fire.

As the shieldmaiden watches him walk away her mind starts to reel again. They'd been close to kissing and she'd been captured by the situation, thrilled even. She wanted him to kiss her, too, she realises.

She had only been kissed once before. It was a good year after she was sworn in as shieldmaiden. It happened on a night of celebrations and she was drunk. Watching Éomer kissing and fumbling with one of Edoras' girls she suddenly felt the wish to know what kissing a man felt like.

_She sat among Éomer's friends and knew Hefric had been showing some interest in her for a while now. Turning towards him she started to flirt, and it didn't take long until Éomer's best friend leaned forward and kissed her for the first time. It felt good at first, but after a couple of minutes Hefric became too eager for her liking. When his hands came to rest on her thighs trying to move the skirt of her dress up a short while later, she quickly drew back, excused herself and rushed out of the tavern and back to the barracks. If kissing was regarded as an invitation to touch her in such a way she would never kiss a man she was not in love with again, she swore to herself, storming back up the hill._

_Hefric followed her, calling her name and apologizing multiple times on their way, but Lisswyn did not listen. Shaking her head more than once she tried to signal him to leave her alone. When they reached the rider's barracks behind Meduseld and Hefric tried to grab her wrist to stop her, wishing to talk to her, she jolted her hand away turned around and hissed at him, "Just leave me alone, Hefric. It was a mistake."_

_She saw the pain her words caused him on his face and part of her had said them to actually hurt him. Another part in her really felt that kissing him out of curiosity and boredom was a mistake._

This time however, it isn't curiosity or boredom she feels. It is more like nervousness, a flutter in her chest, her heart beating faster, her stomach churning and turning, but in a pleasant way and a warmth buzzing in her whole body. _"The worst thing happening would be when you fall for him and he breaks your heart."_ Wilrun's words echo in her mind. Shaking her head and breathing forcefully slow, she tries to calm her nerves, but her mind still spins around everything that happened during the past week. Everything is so… confusing.

Lisswyn pushes the thoughts away and slowly turns to tend to her stallion again.

~ S ~

The first watch at Sarn Gebir is almost over. Although Éomer is not assigned to take watch this night, he is still awake, sitting on a large karst stone at the bonfire staring into the flames. With a long thin stick in his hand, he pokes the glowing and burning logs in the fire.

His mind revolves around a scene he witnessed earlier this night. Lisswyn was tending her stallion when Théodred joined her. At first they were only talking, but then his cousin touched her face, stroked her cheeks and suddenly halted in his action.

'Béma help me, he will kiss her,' The thought caused Éomer to feel dizzy for a moment. Paralysed he had stared at the two who were completely unaware of their surrounding and the thirty other possible witnesses. As he lives through this situation again in his head, the poking becomes fiercer, harder, turning into an angry stabbing. Suddenly the stick snaps with a loud crack. Cursing Éomer tosses the remaining inches violently into the fire.

"What is it, Éomer?" a voice next to him asks.

Turning his head, he sees his old friend from his years of training. Wigbald had become one of Théodred's closest riders.

"Nothing, Wigbald. I am just doing the right thing, is all."

Standing from the rock he starts to walk away when his friend's voice stops him, "The right thing seems to be rather infuriating."

"Don't ask," is all the young prince answers before leaving the fire to seek solace in the dark. The knowing eyes of his friend follow him for a moment.

~ S ~

The ambush comes in the early hours of the next morning three hours before sunrise. The only light on the large clearing comes from the bonfire burning in the middle of camp, from the stars above, and a crescent moon that stands low above the treetops to the south.

"Orcs!" the four guards who have just taken over the third night watch shout with alarm, and the whole camp hurriedly comes into action, thrown into a dither.

The shouts jolt Lisswyn awake with a start. Adrenaline flushes her veins as anxiety starts to take hold of her.

Not having the time to put on her armour, Lisswyn grabs her sword and shield that lay by her side and runs to find Théodred. The crown prince is already on his feet, directing his men to fight off the beasts of Mordor.

"I'm at your side, my lord," she quickly tells him, but there is no reaction. She knows he has heard her though. Merelis and Wilrun join her at Théodred's side shortly after.

When the first orcs come running into the camp past the outer ring of riders fighting them off, Lisswyn starts to tremble with fright. She can feel her heart race and beat against her ribcage. She hasn't been into an earnest fight for quite a while and needs to turn her fear into wrath.

With a loud roar, the orc comes running towards her at Théodred's right side, his heavy axe raised above his head ready to crush it down on the crown prince. Its ugly mouth is contorted with bloodthirst showing two rows of pointed, sharp yellow teeth. Rage bubbles in Lisswyn's chest as she steps forward, holding up her shield and sword to block the attack.

The axe crushes down on her, almost throwing her to the ground. Splinters of her shield splutter to the side. A sharp pain rushes through her left arm while with her right she stabs with her sword upwards and into the beast's intestines. A vile stench hits her face, nearly causing her to gag.

But the beast is not dead yet, and in a new attempt throws itself at her with another animalistic roar. She can feel the fear in her body giving her new strength. Pain runs through her left arm and shoulder as she raises her shield to block the orc's armoured fist that aims to mash her in the face. Shake it off, her mind tells her. Shake it off. It is a mantra she learned during her training years to overcome physical distress in moments such as this. As the orc's heavy arm crushes on her shield again, her left arm breaks to the side and a wild outcry of pain escapes Lisswyn's lips. The first shieldmaiden goes down on her right knee. In a desperate attempt to prevent the beast from killing her, she swings her sword up, when suddenly a knife whirrs over her head and hits the orc in the neck. Silenced by a sudden death, the creature drops to the ground in front of her, but Lisswyn has no time to catch her breath yet, as another of the monstrosities is already raising his sword-like blade against Théodred.

The prince is holding his position fighting fiercely against another of the creatures, not noticing the threat from behind his right shoulder. Panic rises within Lisswyn at the sight and with a hasty stumble forward she reaches Théodred just in time to throw herself in the orc's way, holding up her sword pointing to the sky. The orc turns to the obstacle in front of his feet with a gorily snarl, swinging his weapon to cut off her head.

Convinced it will be her last moment in Arda, Lisswyn musters all her strength and with a cry of rage and revulsion slams the remains of her shield into his knees. The beast trips, crushing itself on her sword and squashing the slender woman underneath its heavy, filthy and stinky body, smashing his armoured fist into her face. A throbbing pain darts through her head and the sudden pressure of its weight empties Lisswyn's lungs. Gasping for air, Lisswyn can feel blood running from a crack in her skin at her right eyebrow down her temple and from a cut in her upper lip into her mouth.

Pushing hard against the heavy cadaver on top of her, she suddenly hears a female cry only a few yards away from her. Merelis or Wilrun, she cannot tell. Horror gives her strength again. She manages to free herself from underneath the dead orc and falters to her feet, quickly looking around.

Despite her still slightly blurred vision, she can see Wilrun at Théodred's side and together they batter down an orc. Another comes running towards them and Lisswyn starts to dash towards it, trying to intercept it, when a spear from behind takes it down on its knees just before she reaches it. Feeling hatred bubbling in her guts, she raises her sword and chops off the injured orc's head with an angry roar.

Pounding from the fight, she straightens up again. Sweat and blood drip into her right eye and she blinks to clear her vision. Have the sounds of battle truly subsided or is her hearing afflicted?

With another look around, she satisfies herself that the ambush has indeed come to an end, but she is still searching for Merelis. The moment Lisswyn catches sight of her on the ground, her body twisted to the side, everything around the first shieldmaiden fades out.

"No!" Lisswyn cries in desperation, bolting to her friend's side.

Blood is seeping through Merelis' tunic from a deep gash in her shoulder. "Merelis?" she cries. Her friend's eyes flicker open and she groans with pain before clenching her jaw.

"Oh Merelis. You're alive." Relief rushes through the first shieldmaiden. Pressing her hands against the cut to stop the bleeding, Lisswyn tries to soothe her friend. "Stay with me, Merelis. Help is coming." Turning her head she shouts, "Help! I need help!"

Lisswyn's outcry sends a sharp sting to Théodred's heart. Whipping his head around he looks for the one he loves. She sits on the ground fifteen feet away by another body, blood on her hands, her tunic, her face and in her hair at the right temple. In the darkness he cannot tell if it is hers or orc blood, but her expression is distorted with anguish. She is wounded, his mind screams and the prince darts over to her his heart beating like a drum.

"Where are you wounded?" he demands under his breath, dropping to his knees at her side and grabbing her left shoulder, causing Lisswyn to wince in pain again.

"I am not. Merelis is," she presses out through clenched teeth, her voice on the brink of cracking.

Disbelieving, Théodred looks at her before he casts a quick look at the other shieldmaiden and calmly calls out, "We need help here. One of the shieldmaidens is down." Slowly he takes down his hand from Lisswyn's shoulder again and shouts out his order, "Edgar, I want a report. How many wounded? How many killed? How great was the number of our attackers? Are there any survivors to question?"

"Aye, my lord," his first captains calls from two yards away.

"Are you alright, Lisswyn?" Théodred almost whispers, his eyes searching her for injuries and lacerations.

Still pressing hard on Merelis shoulder, the first shieldmaiden silently nods, a lone tear dripping from the tip of her nose. A brief moment later one of the riders drops down next to them with a medicine bag in his hands.

"Let me look at her, my lady," he softly tells Lisswyn and Théodred gently pulls her hands away from her friend's deep cut. Blood comes flowing from the wound again and Merelis moans in pain.

A sharp intake of breath has Lisswyn look up at the corpsman in alarm.

"What is it, Aldwine?" the prince asks in her stead.

"She definitely needs stitches, but if the wound gets infected we might lose her."

"I don't want to die," Merelis whimpers, her good arm reaching for Lisswyn's hands.

Nausea rolls over the first shieldmaiden like a breaking wave as she takes her friend's hand and closes her eyes with trepidation, another tear rolling down her blood smeared cheek.

"Make sure it does not," Théodred commands the corpsman and grabs one of the linen cloths from the medicinal bag. Tenderly he starts to wipe away the blood, sweat, and tears on Lisswyn's face. "Look at the first shieldmaiden's cuts when you are done with Merelis."

"Aye, my lord," Aldwine replies.

Heavy boots come to stop next to the small group on the ground.

"One rider killed, four severely wounded, including the shieldmaiden who is the worst, a couple more with minor cuts and bruises, fifty seven attackers, all down and dead," Edgar briefly informs Rohan's heir. Handing Lisswyn the cloth for her face, the prince rises and starts to walk over to the camp's fire to hold council with his captain, his lieutenants and his cousin.

Éomer quickly casts a look past Théodred's shoulder to assure himself that Lisswyn is alright. He fights down the urge to go to her and pull her into his arms. Hearing her shout for help clenched his heart. For a short moment he feared the worst. When he saw his cousin by her side, talking to her calmly he knew she was not severely harmed. Not being able to go to her pained him and jealously he watched from a few yards away how Théodred tried to soothe her and tended to her face.

Their short conversation from the night before comes to his mind. He had been so curt towards her – only seeing the pain he feels over losing her to his cousin and never once considering that his behavior would pain her as well. It's the last thing he wishes to do. It hits him hard in this moment: he misses her, misses how he felt at home with her, but right now there is no other way for him. Inhaling deeply to calm his nerves he turns around and walks over to the small council his cousin has gathered.

"Fifty seven orcs…," Théodred's voice is strained. "The fishermen spoke of around thirty and the tracks we found did not indicate more than fifteen. I don't understand it."

"They came from the river's banks near the rapids," Edgar tells the princes. "Maybe two or more bands have met there and waited with their attack until they saw a chance to outnumber us?"

"Why did our scouts not see them?" Théodred demands angrily.

"Perhaps they hid on the other side of the river?" Folcred suggests. "I didn't see any tracks at the river's banks when I guarded the first shieldmaiden earlier."

"Look for fresh tracks near the rapids as soon as we have enough light," Théodred orders.

"Aye," his men acknowledge.

"How could they know we are here?" Éomer wonders.

"I don't know," Théodred sighs deep in thought. "But it seems Erkenbrand was right."

At Éomer's questioning look he elaborates: "He warned me to ride out with less than a whole éored. Something is closing in on Rohan. The attacks from the north and the west grow in number and now the east is ambushed… as soon as the wounded are moveable a company of five including Aldwine rides straight back to Helm's Deep with them. The rest continues to the north along the Anduin to hear some more of the dwellers. We meet again at Éorl's Hallow tomorrow two hours before sunset."

~ S ~

It is late morning before the company finally starts again. During the fight a fair number of horses broke free with fright and took off. Half of the riders left to track them and chase them back to their camp while the other half broke up camp, and helped the injured. After everybody still able to walk had the chance to get cleaned at the river, the riders finally set off.

They ride in a hard gallop along the river most of the day and Lisswyn feels every leap of her stallion in her shoulder and throbbing pain in her head. Biting down hard, she endures the pain and silently thanks for every stop they make at a farm or settlement. The dwellers of this region all have basically the same story to tell: The riders passed through about four weeks ago and asked for directions to the Gladden Fields, not paying any interest in the people of Rohan.

The company makes camp shortly after sunset long past where the East Wall levels off into the rolling, treeless hills and slopes of the Down a little upcountry from the Anduin. A tense silence spreads as the riders gather around the small fire of the camp. There is barely any dry wood to find in this barren area. Quietly the riders share the remains of their food rations.

Lisswyn's thoughts keep wandering to her shieldmaiden friends. Wilrun decided to accompany the injured, who are led by Éomer. Where are they now and more importantly how does Merelis do?

Her own shoulder throbs with a dull pain and she absentmindedly turns her arm again and again. It takes only a short while for Théodred to notice something is causing the first shieldmaiden distress. Sitting down next to her he asks, "What's wrong with your arm?"

"Nothing, just a little sore from the fight," she brushes his concern off, but Théodred takes her left wrist and pulls her arm up to the side in a straight angle to her body. Lisswyn involuntarily cries out in pain and Théodred's face turns hard.

"Nothing, is it? Did you have Aldwine look at it?"

"No, it'll go away by itself," she tries to brush the subject off, but Théodred will not have it.

Emphasizing each word he tells her: "Get him to have a look at it when we meet them again tomorrow evening."

"It' s really not necessary," she objects.

Still holding her wrist Théodred weighs his options. He is still her commander. He could simply order her to go and see the corpsman. But since he wishes her to become his wife using his superior rank to order her around would certainly not be to the benefit of their relationship. Searching her eyes for the right way to deal with the situation, he instinctively chooses the other option.

"Do it for me… please?" he bids her, holding her look with a pleading in his eyes.

For a split second Lisswyn averts her eyes, but then looks at him again. "Aye," she nods. "I will."

Théodred smiles at her softly. It is the answer he hoped for. It showed him how he would have to treat her as his wife. No, not just as his wife, from now on. He lets go of her wrist and strokes her injured shoulder gently. "It was brave how you faced that first orc who came at us."

"Thank you, my lord," she takes his praise.

"He was a lot taller and stronger than you," the prince continues and Lisswyn slowly nods before her head suddenly snaps up and she looks at him with wide eyes, understanding dawning on her…

"The knife…?" she whispers barely audible.

"Aye."

She turns her head and stares into the flames. "I could have killed it by myself."

Her pride is injured, he can tell by the way she clenches her jaw.

"I know this, Lisswyn," he tells her softly. "I did it without thinking, only giving back for once what you always do for me, keep harm at bay. I certainly did not think you were in need of help."

She continues to stare into the flames and remains quiet.

"Look at me, please," the prince bids her. She clenches her jaw again before slowly turning her head to face him again.

"I wish you could come to see me as a partner rather than a commander," the prince tells her. His eyes have a pleading look.

Lisswyn blinks at him, trying to understand. Is this what his change in behaviour towards her is about? That he wants her to feel like a commander of equal rank. He is a Marshal and she is the first shieldmaiden… but he is her commander, too, and he is Rohan's heir. They can never be equals…

"My lord?" a male voice interrupts their murmured conversation.

Impatient by the disturbance the prince looks up at Éofor. "What is it, lieutenant?"

"By your leave we will double tonight's guards, in case there are more orcs around."

From the corner of his eyes Théodred notices how Wigbald crouches down next to Lisswyn. "Yes, do that," the prince answers his lieutenant sharply. He doesn't know what bothers him more, Éofor coming to interrupt their conversation or Wigbald seizing the moment to get Lisswyn's attention.

It is an innocent attempt to stop her from brooding, he realizes as he listens to the young rider.

"Want some?" Wigbald offers the first shieldmaiden a small leather flask.

"What is it?" she asks.

"Remember when we met the old farmer out on Westemnet while on patrol shortly before your exam? The one that brews his own corn schnapps?"

The first shieldmaiden chuckles softly. "Yes, the lot of you was sick with a hangover for two days afterwards."

"I have become a regular visitor to his farm," Wigbald smirks at her handing her the flask.

She takes a gulp and screws up her face before she coughs. "Bah, it tastes terrible," she hands the flask back.

Leaning back Wigbald looks at the prince sitting on her other side. "May I offer you some strong spirit, my lord?"

Smirking at the young rider the prince takes the flask and takes two large gulps. The alcohol burns in his mouth and throat but he does not show any of it, keeping his face straight. Perhaps it was not so bad the young rider showed up at Lisswyn's side, the prince muses. He was too close to revealing his intentions for Lisswyn and a camp fire on patrol after an orc ambush is certainly not the right place to ask a woman for her hand.

~ S ~

The next morning the pain in Lisswyn's shoulder has lessened, but certain movements still cause her distress. When the company breaks up camp in haste and readies the horses, a sharp pain shoots through the first shieldmaiden's shoulder as she tries to lift her saddle high enough to place it on her stallion's back. Wincing and quietly cursing to herself she lets the saddle rest on her upper legs for a moment to recover.

Edgar's lieutenant Éofor notices her struggling and gives her an emphatic smile before he steps to her side. "Let me help you," he murmurs and without any further ado puts the saddle on Daeroch's back. Ashamed of the display of weakness she thanks him in a hushed voice.

"It's nothing, my lady," the lieutenant replies.

Baffled, she looks at him. My lady? Before she can protest the lieutenant returns back to his horse again.

During the day the company rides hard again, stopping only briefly around noon. By late afternoon they see the landmark of Éorl's Hallow three furlongs ahead. The memorial is known to every rider of Rohan. It stands on the site where Éorl the Young, the first King of the Riddermark, fell in battle in the middle of the Downs in 2545 of the third age. Too their left in the distance the small group with the wounded is approaching the memorial site as well.

After the two groups have met again they continue westward across the low humpbacked downs in a slow walk for another hour.

Quietly Lisswyn questions Wilrun about Merelis' wellbeing. The injured shieldmaiden is riding towards the end of the track. To her relief, Lisswyn learns that her friend does not show any signs of infection to her wound. Silently she prays to Béma it may stay this way.

After a while, Lisswyn and Wilrun fall back in to silence again as the sun in front of them starts to set.

"We should look for a place to make camp," Éomer speaks up after a while.

Nodding to his cousin, the heir of Rohan raises his voice. "Éofor, take some of the men and look for a camp."

Without thinking, Lisswyn quickly cuts in, "Pardon me, my lord, my family's winter camp is within one hour's reach. We could stay there. My mother has a good stock of herbs to treat the wounded as well."

At her first words, Théodred and Éomer turn around. It takes a moment for Théodred to realize her offer would provide him with the perfect opportunity to ask her father for her hand sooner than expected. "That is a brilliant idea," he smiles at her, then signals with his hand for her to ride to the front. "Lead the way, shieldmaiden."


	8. Dreams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys,
> 
> sorry for the wait. Although I was really looking forward to writing about Lisswyn and her family the chapter turned out to be a hard one... and a very long one, too. So I decided to split it in two. This is the first part. I hope you like it.
> 
> Also, I set up a pinterest board with pictures for you, in case any of you want to know what I think my various characters look like. Or certain buildings we have no descriptions of like the Aldburg castle. You can find it here: pinterest.de/frlbarth/lisswyn/
> 
> I mention a "Gondorian walk" and a "compliment" in this chapter - there are a few circus tricks horses can learn, one is called "compliment" in our world as well, the other is called "Spanish walk". Since there is not realm called Spain in Middle Earth, I decided to rename the trick, thus "Gondorian walk" ;-)
> 
> Thanks to three wonderful people who look at my story, erase my mistakes and give me much appreciated and helpful feedback before I post anything: VoxynQueen, jayjay0815 and last but not least Scribe of the Fanciful. Check out their stories!
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. The songs in this chapter are by Astrid Lindgren and traditional. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Warning! Mention of sexual violence in this chapter. Nothing explicit!

* * *

 

**Dreams**

_"You're what I couldn't find_  
_A totally amazing mind_  
_So understanding and so kind_  
_You're everything to me"_ (The Cranberries)

* * *

'Home,' a warm feeling spreads in Lisswyn's chest as she gallops towards the karst rock face that shields the entrance to the well where her family's winter camp is situated.

A sharp whistle from behind prompts her to look back. Théodred has slowed the company to a trot and calls her back now. Riding a wide half circle she returns to the company, slowing Daeroch to walking pace as the others come to a halt.

"I am sorry, my lord, I was getting a little too enthusiastic about returning home," she tells him the moment they meet and before he has a chance to reprimand her for storming off with her stallion.

His answer is a wide grin. "I forgive you, Lisswyn, but we should be more careful now in this rocky landscape where we cannot see what is behind the next crag…"

"My family's winter camp," she interrupts him innocently and sends him smirking even wider.

"Alright, then let's give the horses a chance to cool down, Lisswyn," he speaks with amusement in his voice as if he is talking to an unruly child.

She can't help it and smirks back. "Aye, my lord."

His eyes lie on her, warm and gentle. With a knock of his head he signals her to ride by his side and she turns her horse to follow his command. From the corner of her eyes she notices how he casts her side glances. Irritated, she turns her head to meet his gaze and finds him tenderly smiling at her. It sends a flutter to her heart and she blushes, shyly smiling back.

Rounding the escarpment to their left, they enter a small ravine following a high ridge on their right. After yet another turn to the left a wide enclosed hollow opens up in front of them. At the far end four yurts are placed in a circle around a large open fire place. In the back an old barn sits in the bend of a large wall of rock.

Her family's winter camp has changed slightly since she last came here, Lisswyn realizes. The last time she visited there had been only three yurts. From afar she sees how two men turn in their direction. From their body size and posture it's probably her father and her uncle trying to discern if the company entering the vale means trouble.

"May I give them a signal that we pose no threat, my lord?" Lisswyn asks Théodred.

A small nod of his head gives her permission, and Lisswyn quickly puts the fingers of her right hand into her mouth to blow out three whistles, one short, two long. In the distance two more figures appear between the yurts looking their way.

"What did your whistles mean?" Théodred curiously asks Lisswyn.

"That it's me."

In the distance two of the four men start to walk towards them while another young man and two women come to join the others.

A few minutes later, the two parties stand a mere fifty yards away halfway in the well. "Lisswyn?" her father calls, incredulous, "is that you?"

"Yes, Papa," the first shieldmaiden calls back, before she realizes that she forgot to ask for permission to answer first. Quickly she looks at Théodred, but the crown prince is simply smiling at her.

"Go, greet them," he tells her fondly, knocking his chin in the direction of the approaching men.

Within a second Lisswyn urges Daeroch forward in a canter and jumps off her horse before the stallion has fully stopped infront on the two men. Throwing up her arms, she falls into her father's embrace. He lifts her off the ground laughing.

"What are you doing here, lambkin?" he asks close to her left ear as he looks past her at the company approaching. Within a second he recognizes Éomer riding in the front line. The man next to the young prince must be the king's son. He realizes by the emblem on his jerkin and the buckle that holds his coat.

"Théodred prince and Éomer were on a patrol to the eastern borders. We came past here on our way back," Lisswyn quickly explains as her father lets go of her. After a quick hug for her uncle she turns back around. Facing her father as well as the riders, she continues, "I offered them to make camp for the night in our well. I hope you do not mind?"

"No, I don't. It's an honour," the horse breeder replies, then raises his voice for the princes to hear, "Welcome to our winter camp, my lords," before he inclines his head.

Théodred urges Brego forward a couple of steps and dismounts him swiftly. With three powerful strides he comes to stand in front of the first shieldmaiden, her father, and her uncle, smiling lightly. The two men have the same strawberry blonde hair as the first shieldmaiden, streaked with grey strands, and neatly shaved faces. With an expectant look at Lisswyn, the prince waits for her to introduce everyone.

It takes a second for the first shieldmaiden to understand what Théodred is waiting for. "Excuse me, my lord," she hurriedly says. "May I introduce you to my father Cenric and my uncle Cenulf, sons of Gram from the Wold."

"It's a pleasure to meet you, Master Cenric, Master Cenulf," the prince greets the two older men, looking from one to the other.

"It's an honour to have you here, my lord Théodred," Cenric replies for the both of them, signalling with his right hand to walk back to their dwellings.

At the prince's side Lisswyn has already turned towards the yurts, eager to walk over there. One of the women at the camp takes a hesitant step forward but then halts. Théodred suppresses a smirk. Swiftly he turns towards the shieldmaiden. "I can take your horse," he mumbles smiling, knocking his chin in the direction of the woman and the other four people waiting at the yurts.

A big smile graces Lisswyn's face and she darts off to where her mother is just as impatiently waiting for her. "Mama!" she calls, and throws herself into the woman's arms.

Théodred hears how the man at his right lets out a deep sigh of relief. "Shall I take her horse, my lord?" Cenric offers, turning back to the prince and grabbing for Daeroch's reins. With the rest of the riders still on horseback, the three men walk towards the camp. Rohan's heir takes in the scenery.

The two larger yurts are sitting to the right and the left of the old circular barn, nestled against the rock face which shields the camp to the north. Two smaller yurts in front of them ward off the circle against the wide, open space of the hollow. In the centre of the camp is a large round fire pit with a low fire already burning.

Half of the circular barn's wall in the back is the natural solid rock of the cliff. The rest is made of a large round hay roof sweeping up from the ground to the highest peak in the middle. At the front a porch-like entrance is topped with a wooden horse-head. The whole building looks like a large tent of hay, many centuries old. To the left of it is an open stable with eight bays, three of them holding horses.

"Your men can set up camp over there, my lord," Lisswyn father tells him, pointing to their left. "It's even and dry ground." On the grassland a couple of yards away from the yurts is a small ditch and a wooden hut, probably the privy, Théodred figures.

"Very well."

"Your riders' horses, my lord, what are they? Mares, geldings, stallions?"

"Geldings and mares, Master Cenric," the crown prince replies. "Only Daeroch, Brego and Firefoot are stallions."

"Alright, your men can put them into the last corral over there for the night," he says pointing in the opposite direction.

Obviously Lisswyn's father is used to giving orders, Théodred muses as he follows with his eyes to where Cenric points.

There a rivulet trickles down the rocky wall. At the base of the cliff where the runlet meets the well's level ground the water is caught in a round wooden trough before it is allowed to flow freely through the animal's winter pastures. On each of the six fenced paddocks stands a wooden shelter with two large mangers for the horses, sheep and goats.

In between the pastures and the camp is a small field, only sixteen and a half feet wide and twice as long. The different kinds of vegetables growing there look like they have been left for themselves throughout the summer, but most of them are still good for harvesting. The field is framed by eight old apple trees full with ripe fruits.

"May I invite you to our fireplace, my lords?" Cenric addresses Théodred before he looks past the crown prince at Éomer.

"Thank you, Master Cenric. We'll gladly accept your offer."

With a big grin, the younger prince dismounts Firefoot and steps forward to finally greet Lisswyn's father, too. To the heir's surprise his cousin and Lisswyn's father share a short, rough hug. With a clap to the shoulder Éomer greets the shieldmaiden's uncle. All three of them laugh at each other.

Théodred swiftly turns around and instructs Edgar where to set up the riders' camp and to put the horses for the night. When the captain leads the company away, the princes and Lisswyn's father and uncle continue to walk towards the family's yurts. As they approach, Théodred watches how Lisswyn slowly loosens her tight embrace and draws back just a little bit to look at a woman whose light blond hair has turned almost completely into bright white. A look at her face is answer enough; it's Lisswyn's mother. They talk to each other softly. Next to them are three young men; Lisswyn's brothers and cousin.

The moment the princes and the two horse breeders join them, Lisswyn's older brother Bertric pulls the shieldmaiden into a bear hug. "Mitting," he calls the small woman softly and places a kiss on her forehead. There is no mistaking they are related. He displays the same strawberry blonde hair, oval-shaped face and round hazel eyes like the shieldmaiden. "How come you honour us with your presence?" he jests, before addressing Éomer and Théodred. "My lords," he inclines his head and Lisswyn's younger brother and nephew follow his lead quietly. Like the older men, none of them wear a beard, as is customary for horse breeders in Rohan according to the old saying that a man who hides his face behind a beard cannot be trusted when selling horses.

Théodred and Éomer acknowledge the greetings with slight nods of their heads. Stepping forward and grinning brightly, Lisswyn punches the youngest of the three men against his left shoulder. "You have grown into a beanpole," she teases him.

The dark blonde youth cracks a smile. With his round face, long straight nose and thin lips he looks like a younger version of Lisswyn's uncle. "Be careful, I am taller than you, tomboy," he teases her back, knowing that it used to be her eke-name at Edoras. A soft puff from behind tells the shieldmaiden that Éomer heard them, too.

While Cenric introduces the king's son to his wife and sister-in-law, Lisswyn reaches out for her younger brother. Déor stiffens slightly, but then his arms come around her shoulders to hug her, too. "Liss," he murmurs, then quickly drops his arms again. For a brief moment the shieldmaiden feels awkward, but then her aunt pulls her into a hug as well.

Sensing the tension between his younger children, Cenric swiftly takes charge again. "The stallions have to be placed into the open stable next to the barn, lambkin," he tells the first shieldmaiden.

"I know, Paps," she grins at him. The older man reaches out with his hand and gently strokes her cheek, ending the motion with a loving squeeze to it before he turns towards his sons and nephew. "Bertric, take the lords' stallions to the bays. Déor, Wulf, help the riders with the camp and then show them where to put their horses."

The young men follow his lead quickly and the horse breeder addresses the king's son again, "I am afraid we will only be able to serve you and your men a meagre meal, my lord. Our stocks are almost empty after a long summer, and so shortly before the horse fair at Edoras."

"We will be thankful for the meagre of meals, Master Cenric," Théodred replies politely. He hasn't expected to feast like a noble at a horse breeder's camp. With a slow incline of his head, Cenric accepts the answer.

While Lisswyn and Bertric lead the three stallions to the open stables, her father takes the princes to the fireplace and her mother and aunt start to prepare a meal. In front of one of the larger yurts a young woman plays with a toddler; Lisswyn's sister-in-law.

As the shieldmaiden and her brother walk by she looks up, sending Bertric a loving smile. Lisswyn notices how he grins back at her.

"You look happy," she tells him.

"I am happy."

"So, marriage becomes you?"

"Layrun is a good wife; diligent, thoughtful, gentle, and she gave me a son."

For a moment the two look at each other smiling before they lead the stallions into the bays.

Lisswyn barely has the time to take down Daeroch's bridle before he thrusts his head into the bay's manger, pulling out a mouthful of hay. Smiling over his impatience after a long day of riding without a break to graze properly, Lisswyn strokes his strong neck and ruffles him along his crest. As she takes down the saddle, a sharp pain shoots through her left shoulder again and she draws breath through her clenched teeth. She will ask Aldwine to look at it, but not tonight, she decides. Tomorrow will be just as good. Taking the saddle and bridle with her, she walks back to meet her brother at the open stable's fence.

Smiling, he waits for her as Lisswyn puts the saddle onto the fence's top picket. "Do you love her?" she asks him with a knock of her chin in Layrun's direction.

"Yes, I do. Why do you ask?" Her older brother searches her eyes.

"I remember your wedding day. She looked frightened back then and you were very tense." The shieldmaiden's eyes flick over to the young woman, only twenty-one years of age and with unusually dark brown hair. "The two of you were definitely not in love when you were married. It seems to have changed and I wondered if one can really grow into loving another."

"Probably not in all cases, but in ours it worked out well," Bertric turns his head to look at his little family as well before he faces his sister once more. "I gave us time to get to know each other first."

Lisswyn looks back at him frowning over his answer.

"Did you think I forced myself upon her on our wedding night?" he asks her, a slight hurt in his voice.

"No!" Lisswyn objects hastily, almost blurting, then adds calmly, "No, I… I didn't think about it, to be honest. I… I assumed… You hung out the stained bed sheet the next morning."

"I cut my palm for it," he answers with a soft smile and Lisswyn's eyes widen at his revelation. Deorwine, the man she had been promised to marry, would not have shown her such respect. He made that very clear when… Dreading to remember, Lisswyn quickly focuses on the conversation with her brother again.

"How long did you wait?"

"Until she showed me she wished for it a little more than half a year later."

Lisswyn takes a moment to think about his answer. "How do you know you really love her?"

"When father, Déor and I go to Edoras for the horse fair or leave the others in the Wold for a few days to meet the merchants at the Anduin, I miss her."

At his last words Lisswyn's eyes dart over to where her father is talking to Éomer. 'I miss her,' her brother's words echo in her head as she recalls how many times she missed the young prince during the last two years since he became Marshal of Aldburg. When they met a good week ago Éomer said he missed her, too. Perhaps Wilrun was right in her assumption that he sees more in her than just a friend?

She feels her heart jump at the thought, but her mind warns her not to be too hopeful. Still looking at the tall prince and pondering on the question she fails to notice how her brother's eyes follow her gaze. Briefly, Bertric bites down hard, but then his right hand comes up to clap the first shieldmaiden's shoulder.

"You'll find your match one day, too, Mitting," he tells her.

Lisswyn looks back to him. "Aye," she sighs, "I'll go help Mama and Sweterun with cooking."

"I'll see to the horses," Bertric replies and leaves to fetch two buckets of water from the spring nearby.

Lisswyn walks towards the fire pit where her mother and aunt cut potatoes, pumpkin into a large tin kettle for a hearty stew. A load of uncut corn lies on the ground next to them waiting to be prepared and cut into the stew as well.

On her way, Lisswyn passes her father and Éomer, talking to each other like they did many times in the past when she took the prince to her family's yurt at the horse fair. Théodred stands next to them, listening.

"I see, you use the new saddle on Firefoot I recommended to you. How do you fare with it?"

"Took me a while to get used to it, but Firefoot walks better now. Thanks for giving me that advice."

"Anytime. He was my foal once, I still care for him."

"How many horses will you take to the fair this year?"

"I haven't decided yet. We came back only three days ago, but we have ten foals to be branded this year at Edoras. Maybe one or two of them will be sold. A couple of two- and three year olds will be for sale and I have a fine yearling colt that will make a kingly stallion one day if he has the right teacher." Cenric grins at Éomer with a daringly smug face.

"Like Lisswyn?" Éomer asks, grinning back.

"Having a stallion who knows a few tricks to show off never hurts," her father retorts playfully.

"Like Daeroch doing the Gondorian walk or a compliment?"

"I'm surprised to find Lisswyn hasn't taught Firefoot yet."

"I'm a warrior, not a show off, Cenric." Éomer chuckles, enjoying their usual banter.

"We could argue about this all night, my son…"

The two men share a laugh before Lisswyn's father looks at Théodred again. "We slaughtered a young mutton two days ago, I will put it over the fire to roast for you and your men, my lord. Why don't you have them join us for supper here later?"

"Thank you, Master Cenric."

"Alright, I'll go get the mutton."

"We'll be back with our men in a short while, Master Cenric," Théodred replies, motioning with his head for Éomer to follow him to the rider's camp. When they have come past the yurts, he looks at his younger cousin. "You know her father quite well."

"Yes, Lisswyn took me to her family's yurt at the horse fair numerous times over the past ten years. We are fairly acquainted with each other."

"What about her brothers?"

"Bertric is reserved and protective like any older brother would be with his sister. I do understand him. Déor hated me from the first moment and it hasn't changed a bit until now. But her cousin, Wulf, is a fine young boy."

"Éomer, I…," Théodred stops in his stride and hesitates for a brief moment, unsure of how to address the delicate subject. Looking at his cousin, who has stopped as well, and anxiously searching his eyes, he continues with a soft voice, "I can imagine how hard this is for you; leaving Lisswyn to me."

At his last words the Marshal looks down to the ground, clenching his teeth. When he looks up again to meet Théodred's gaze, the pain in his eyes speaks louder than any words.

"I just hope that it will not stay between us for the rest of our lives, because I love you like a brother."

"I know. I'll try," Éomer's voice sounds like sandpaper on old dry wood.

"Thank you," Théodred murmurs and only after another pause continues, "Would you lead the company back towards the Entwade tomorrow morning?"

Surprised, Éomer looks at him.

"I'd like to stay a little longer here with Lisswyn, get to know her family a little more," Théodred explains. A sole nod of his cousin's head is the only answer, so he elaborates further, "We'll follow around noon and catch up on you at the south end of the Wold for the night's camp."

"Just you and her?" the Marshal's face is like a mask as he asks. He has won back the power over his voice, sounding firm and cold.

"No, I will have Edgar, Éofor, Folcred and Wigbald accompany us."

"As you wish, cousin."

~ S ~

Albeit simple, the riders have a hearty supper with stew and roasted mutton around the large fire pit before they return to their own camp upon Théodred's order. Only Wilrun and Merelis stay a little longer and Lisswyn joins them shortly after.

A few moments later, Aldwine comes to treat Merelis' wound. Carefully the corpsman takes off the bandages. The flesh around the stitched cut is swollen and red. Puss and sore liquid oozes from a small opening in the cut at Merelis breast. Aldwine gently presses on the flesh around the wound, forcing more of it to come free. Merelis winces silently.

"Will it heal without infection?" Lisswyn asks in a low voice.

"It looks good," Aldwine replies, before he smears a white balm on the wound. For a moment Lisswyn wonders how Merelis feels about the older man's hands touching her in such private parts. But then she reminds herself that Aldwine probably does not see the woman in front of him, but the injured warrior. Stripping naked in front of a male healer if no female was around was one of the hardest things for Lisswyn to learn during her training years, especially after the horrid night at the beginning of her second year at Edoras.

Swallowing hard against the old memory, the first shieldmaiden watches how Aldwine efficiently wraps new bandages around Merelis's shoulder and chest.

"How is your shoulder?" the corpsman suddenly turns towards the first shieldmaiden.

Lisswyn looks at him guiltily. "Théodred prince told you?"

A gentle smile is her only answer.

"Still hurting when I move my arm upwards," she admits faintly.

"Let me see," Aldwine orders and waits for Lisswyn to take off her tunic. Embarrassed, she pulls it over her head leaving only her chest strap on. With her midriff and arms exposed she feels vulnerable, naked. A quick glance around shows her that only her mother, aunt, and sister-in-law with her little nephew are still at the fireplace. All the men, including her own relatives, have left, obviously to give Merelis privacy for the healer's administrations.

The touch of the corpsman's hands on her wrist and her shoulder pull Lisswyn's attention back to the grey haired man in front of her. Slowly, Aldwine moves her arm about while with his other hand inspects her shoulder. When Lisswyn flinches from pain at a certain movement he presses a little harder.

"Does it still hurt, when I press down here while moving the arm?" the experienced healer asks her.

"Not as much as it did before."

"You strained your deltoid muscle and the bursa in your shoulder."

"My what?"

"It is a gelatinous pouch like mass in your shoulder that prevents the bones from grinding against each other. If you have too much pressure on it, in a fight for instance, the bursa easily reacts with an infection. I'll give you a balm to put on for cooling the shoulder. Stretching will help it heal and you should avoid using your arm too much in the next few days. If it still bothers you in a week, come and see me again." The corpsman hands her a small wooden can.

"Thank you, Aldwine."

"It's what I am here for, Lisswyn."

Quickly, he puts his equipment back into his medicine bag and rises while Lisswyn puts her tunic back on.

"Have a good night, ladies," he smiles at them before he walks off towards the rider's camp to see to the other wounded.

The sun has long descended behind the rocky cliffs enclosing the well, but the moon has not come out yet. Beyond the fire place it is already pitch dark.

"How do you feel?" Lisswyn asks Merelis in front of her.

"It still hurts, but as long as I do not get an infection, I'm happy."

"Do you want to sit by the fire?"

Merelis nods in reply and Lisswyn carefully helps her friend up from the ground and over to a large log to sit next to her sister-in-law.

"Merelis, this is my brother's wife Layrun. Layrun, these are my shieldmaiden companions, Merelis and Wilrun," she introduces the three young women.

"This is your nephew, Baldric," Layrun holds her little son up for Lisswyn to greet him.

"Hey there, little rider. You want to get to know your aunty a little?" she asks him and after an encouraging nod from Layrun takes the little boy into her arms. The toddler of little more than a year grabs a strand of Lisswyn's hair and pulls it firmly.

"Béma, you are a strong one, aren't you?" Lisswyn teases the little boy who starts to poke her face with his small dirty fingers.

While Lisswyn devotes herself to her nephew, Wilrun, Merelis, and Layrun start an amicable conversation. Female colloquists are rare for Bertric's young wife since her mother-in-law and Lisswyn's aunt are much older and mostly keep for themselves. Layrun visibly enjoys hearing the newest tatter of Aldburg and Edoras.

Lisswyn carries Baldric a few feet away and sits down on the ground with him. The toddler grabs her outstretched fingers and pulls himself up to a stand on shaky little legs, babbling nonsense and insecurely making some wobbly steps.

It is a peaceful moment when Éomer comes to join after he and Théodred have seen to the riders at their camp. His cousin ordered them to give the family privacy at their campfire for the rest of the night and so his men started a smaller one in the middle of their own camp as well. While Théodred is still joining his men, Éomer decided to look for Lisswyn's father at the family's circle. Instead of Cenric he only finds the women there.

Seeing Lisswyn with her nephew he feels the pain in his chest again - a hot stab to his heart which makes breathing hard and causes his eyes to sting. For a moment he watches her, silently regretting he hadn't realized earlier what she means to him - that he was too blind to see what was right in front of him all those years. He is ready to walk back unnoticed when suddenly the little toddler points at him.

"Dadadada," Baldric babbles and wobbles over to the tall warrior, not the least frightened by his proud figure, impressive armour or physical strength. A smile creeps into Éomer's face and he quickly squats down, reaching forward with his arms to steady the toddler in case he threatens to fall over.

Looking up from Baldric, he meets Lisswyn's eyes and she greets Éomer with a wide smile and a gentle look. His heart starts to pound in his chest and he feels a heat in his cheeks that has nothing to do with the campfire.

"Dadadada," Baldric babbles and grabs for Éomer's long tresses, causing Lisswyn and the prince to laugh.

With his right hand, the toddler pulls Éomer's hair, with his left he grabs for the collar of the prince's tunic, and with the sheer power of his small arms he pulls himself up so that he can lift his leg onto Éomer's knees. The Marshal playfully protests, "Ouch, do you want to rip my hair out?" Amused, he watches how the little boy climbs into his lap. With his strong hands, the prince gently supports Baldric's struggle to move all the way up onto his upper legs.

"I think he likes you," Lisswyn murmurs, and Éomer looks at her again. In the low light of the bonfire his hair glows golden and his eyes are a warm chocolate brown. Lisswyn can feel her heart swell as she takes in his face. For a moment the two get lost in the eyes of the other.

Suddenly Baldric topples over and almost falls off Éomer's lap. Quickly, the prince looks down and catches the boy before he hits the ground. "Careful there, young rider," he tells him softly and Lisswyn chuckles.

"If I didn't know it better, I would say you three are a sweet little family," Wilrun's voice sounds from a few feet away. Stunned, Éomer and Lisswyn look over to her. The warm glow from the fireplace lays a reddish glow on everything around, yet Lisswyn's violent blushing is still noticeable.

"Watch your mouth, Wilrun," she reprimands her friend with a gentle voice as if jesting before turning towards Éomer again. "Do not pay her any attention," she whispers, embarrassed and barely able to look him in the eye.

"Don't worry," he tells her reassuringly and Lisswyn nods, fighting the embarrassment down and focusing on Baldric again, who almost falls on his backside.

"Don't you wish a family for yourself?" Éomer's coarse voice takes her by surprise. His eyes rest on her curiously and she feels her cheeks flush again.

"Yes, I do," she answers him, somewhat insecure. Searching his eyes she feels her heart beating faster and her throat becoming dry like a bone. The thought of having a family with him rushes through her mind. Yes, that is something she could see wholeheartedly. She swallows hard before she answers him, "But it takes two to start one, right?" dearly hoping that he will ask her to consider him.

Éomer averts his eyes. "Yes, you are right," he clips. Sensing his discomfiture and reluctance, Lisswyn's smile falters.

"Careful there, young rider," Éomer suddenly laughs as the toddler topples forward and grabs on to the prince's knees. "Dadadada," Baldric declares, with a serious look on his sweet round face, and tries to climb on Éomer's lap again.

"I think it is time for bed now, Baldric," Lisswyn's sister-in-law appears at their side, taking her son up into her arms. "Say goodnight to your famous aunt and the handsome prince," she tells him with the high pitched voice adults commonly use for small children, making everything sound like an exaggeration.

"Nananana," the little boy protests, and Layrun starts to sing.

 _"Hush-a-bye, don't you cry_  
_Go to sleep my little baby._  
_When you wake you shall have_  
_All the pretty little horses..."_

Éomer and Lisswyn awkwardly rise from their crouched positions and look at each other uncomfortably.

"I… I need to," Éomer stutters, pointing towards the privy before he quickly walks off into the darkness. From afar he can hear the woman sing the lullaby for the toddler. Instead of relieving himself he takes a lone walk across the grassland in a wide circle around the camp and strolls towards the pastures on the opposite site.

At the camp fire Merelis, Wilrun and Lisswyn join Layrun's singing.

 _"...Black and bays, dapples and grays,_  
_All the pretty little horses._  
_Hush-a-bye, don't you cry,_  
_Go to sleep my little baby._  
_When you wake you shall have_  
_All the pretty little horses."_

From the direction of the rider's camp, Lisswyn's brothers step back into the circle of light around the fire. They seem in a good mood. Visitors are rare in the Wold and life can be lonely and tedious out here when you have only your family around day in and day out, Lisswyn recalls. Spending an evening with men their age, talking about men's topics and sharing a couple of suggestive jokes certainly is a pleasant diversion for once.

Betric especially looks relaxed and at ease. Swiftly his eyes search the circle of logs around the fire pit, but when he cannot find who he is looking for, he turns to the shieldmaiden and asks, "Where is Layrun?"

"She took Baldric to bed, just a moment ago."

"I will join them. I see you tomorrow, Liss."

"Have a good night's rest, Papa bear," she teases him fondly. He ruffles her hair in answer and smiles at her before he follows his wife to their yurt.

From the corner of her eye, Lisswyn notices how her companions rise from their seats by the fire as well. She turns towards them. "Can you please look after Merelis tonight?" Lisswyn asks Wilrun. "I would like to stay with my family."

"Of course, have a good night," the taller woman assures her.

"Thank you and good night to both of you." She watches her friends walk back to the rider's camp, Merelis holding herself stiff and limping with pain.

Turning around to the fire, Lisswyn finds her younger brother looking at her friends as well. Sitting down next to him she teases, "Don't look at her like that."

"What's wrong with her?" he knocks his head over to Merelis.

"She was injured in an ambush yesterday morning." Lisswyn follows his gaze and watches how Wilrun helps Merelis to walk back to their camp.

"Is it severe?"

Turning back towards her brother she answers, "We have to hope that the cut does not get infected… "

"Is she a shieldmaiden?"

"Aye."

Déor pokes the fire with a long stick before he adds two more pads of dried horse droppings and straw to it. In the blazing flames, his light blond hair glows like liquid iron. "What's her name?"

"Merelis."

"Does she have a suitor?"

His last question surprises Lisswyn, "Why do you want to know?"

"She seems nice," he tells her, emotionless. "Perhaps I can court her."

"She will only bring you heartbreak."

"Why do you say so?" he snaps, startling her.

"She is a merchant's daughter," Lisswyn tells him calmly still puzzled by his outburst. "Her father will never consent to a marriage between the two of you. Besides, what could you offer her? She is born in Edoras. You think she would come out here to live with you in the Wold?"

"Who says I will stay here in the Wold for the rest of my life?" her brother remains offensive.

"What else could you do?"

"Become a rider, a warrior, like you?"

"I never thought it is something you would like," she tells him softly, but Déor is not in the mood to let her calm him.

Glaring at her he blurts out, "Why do you think you are the only one in this family who has dreams and higher goals than being a horse breeder?"

Still wishing to avoid a fight Lisswyn apologizes, "I am sorry, I did not mean to upset you. I am just surprised."

Déor's temper however does not falter. "Yes, because you don't know what is going on this family ever since you left. You are no longer part of this family…"

His accusation stings and Lisswyn has to force her voice to stay calm and friendly now. "Don't say that. I miss all of you every single day I am away… You think I like it to not see mother for three years?"

He lets out a patronizing huff. "Oh yes? Then why did you never come out here to visit us? All you ever did was come to our yurt at the horse fair. Together with that princeling friend of yours. Like the two of you were something better than we are."

Her brother's resentment and disdain hurts. "This is not true, Déor. I missed you. And I am not better than you are. I have my duties and hardships just like you…"

"Yeah. Serving the king," he interrupts her, his voice like venom, "Protecting lord and land. Imagine there are other people in your family who would have liked to choose this path, too, but cannot."

"Why not? Of course you can. You are not too old to start the training."

His answer is a single, condescending laugh.

"Have you talked to father about this yet?"

"Many times," Déor's voice sounds bitter now.

"What did he say?"

"Our family cannot afford losing another member to the king and we have a debt to pay," he tells her dryly.

"So it's my fault?"

Pretending he doesn't care Déor shrugs his shoulders.

"I help father to pay it off with my salary," Lisswyn tries to defend herself. "When it is obliterated, you can start the training."

"You are a fool, Lisswyn," he tells her patronisingly. "I will be too old for the training then…"

"It's been eleven years now, it must be paid-up sometime soon."

"No it's not."

"But…"

"Father never told you," he interrupts her. It's a statement rather than a question.

"Told me what?"

"Your intended husband's family doubled the bride price when Papa called your betrothal off."

"He agreed to it?" she inquires incredulously.

"Did he have a choice?" Déor asks sardonically and gives the answer himself instantly, "No. He had to accept it to get his little princess out of the arrangement and give her the possibility to go to Edoras for training." His voice is filled with venom again. "But don't fret, Lisswyn. It has always been like this and it will always be like this. You are his number one. We all accepted it a long time ago."

Briskly, Déor stands up and walks past her and the small yurt he shares with Wulf towards the rider's camp. With tears in her eyes Lisswyn watches his back.

"Don't fight with your brother, fauntkin," her mother softly tells her from the other side of the fire.

Cynewyn and Sweterun have been quietly yarning sheep's wool all evening. Fighting down the anger and hurt the argument with Déor caused her, Lisswyn walks over to them and sits down next to her mother. In front of her lies the slaughtered sheep's skin. Without a word Lisswyn takes it, pulls out her knife and starts to scrub it, helping the two older women with their evening's task.

"Where is everybody?" she asks them after a long moment of tense silence.

"Your father and uncle are checking on the horses again and your cousin I believe has joined the riders."

"He dreams about becoming a rider, too, one day," her aunt adds.

"Is it my fault, too, that he cannot?"

"No, fauntkin. It is not. After he has turned sixteen in Súlimë he will go to Edoras."

"Then why can't Déor go as well?"

"Breeding horses like we do takes the families of two men to be successful and in this family it has always been brothers doing it."

"So he does not get to live the life he wants because of tradition?" Lisswyn blurts out.

"No, honey," her aunt adds. "When Cenulf and I are too old to keep moving about the Wold, we can move to Edoras when Wulf is doing rider's duty there. So your brothers will only have to care for your parents. It's a decision your father and uncle made together for the best of everyone in the family."

"Everyone except Déor."

"Bertric will not be able to do it alone once your father and I are too old and will stay at the camp all year round," her mother explains further.

"So, if I had not chosen to become a shieldmaiden, Déor could have become a rider?"

"No, fauntkin. It has nothing to do with you, don't let your brother tell you otherwise. If you had not become a shieldmaiden you would have been married to Deorwine and be his widow now, living furlongs away from here with his family."

Deorwine; the name rushes through Lisswyn's head for the second time this evening, sending a sickening feeling to her stomach. Thinking of the man she had been promised to and who… closing her eyes for a moment she chases the thought from her head. A firm hand strokes her left knee. Opening her eyes she sees her mother gently looking at her.

"Déor simply needs someone to let his anger out. Don't hold it against him."

"I don't, Mama. Is it true though that father has to pay the doubled bride price for me?"

"You better ask him personally," Cynewyn evades to answer and the three women fall silent for a while yarning wool and scrubbing the deer skin, before Lisswyn speaks up again.

"Do you still have some rabbit fur, mother?"

"Sure," Cynewyn replies pointing at the old storage barn. "You know where we keep them. Take as much as you need, fauntkin, and leave the old ones with me. I can wash and dry them after you have left."

"Thank you, Mama."

Swiftly Lisswyn rises, takes the cleaned skin and walks over to the old barn. Inside she hangs it over a line that is stretched from one end of the barn to the other. In a small wooden box to the side she finds three rabbit furs. Taking out her knife again, she cuts two furs into eight strips. She will give four of them to Wilrun.

With the fur strips in her left hand, Lisswyn steps outside the barn and looks towards the bonfire. Seeing her mother and aunt sit together, she notices how much her mother has aged during the three years she hasn't seen her. Her white-blonde hair is more white than blonde now and around her eyes and mouth are a lot of new wrinkles. She hears her mother cough. Her heart clenches with regret over not having come out here once to visit her during the last three years. Déor's accusations were not all completely wrong, she realizes.

Her mother coughs again, then raises her head and meets Lisswyn's look as if she sensed her gaze. Quickly, Lisswyn smiles at her as she continues to walk over to where Cynewyn is sitting.

"You seem happy," her mother says as she comes towards her.

"I am."

"And you have a few very handsome men at your side…"

"Mother…"

"I am just wondering why you have not found your match yet…"

"Mother!?…" Lisswyn sits down next to her again, hoping she will not have to defend herself for still being unmarried at the age of twenty six for the rest of the night. Her mother seems to sense her wish.

"It is alright, fauntkin. You don't have to explain yourself."

After a short moment of silence, Cynewyn raises her high soprano singing voice.

_"Now night has fallen over the earth…"_

Lisswyn recognizes her favourite lullaby instantly and joins her mother with her warm and lower mezzosopran before her aunt starts to sing along, too.

 _"…And the stars are shining cold._  
_Mountains and forests are asleep_  
_And it is dark everywhere._  
_Only my campfire's shining_  
_Black night is all around_  
_And I'm all alone_  
_But that doesn't bother me_  
_I think of all the campfires_  
_That once burned and shone,_  
_And all those who once sat_  
_And stared into them in silent joy_  
_Or maybe were singing ballads_  
_Though none of their songs_  
_Will ever be sung again_  
_For their fires are extinguished_  
_Since such a long long time_  
_But my fire, my fire_  
_It burns and shines and warms me now_  
_And I sit here and sing_  
_And my fire stands guard in the night,_  
_Until it has burned out_  
_And until the sky has brightened_  
_And the night has ended."_

~ S ~

Beyond the low, warm lights of the campfire, Éomer walks the grassland of the well in darkness. The night starts to grow cold and the grass is wet from dew. Éomer welcomes the chill of a damp night. Maybe it will help clear his head, he hopes, as his thoughts travel back to the first shieldmaiden. The low sounds of three female voices singing in the distance settles heavy on his heart. Silently he prays for the pain to go away, when suddenly the shadows of three men stepping out between the pastures' fences stop him short in his steps. He recognizes Cenric's voice.

"I hope what little we had to offer was sufficient for you and your men, my lord?"

He is talking to his cousin, Éomer realizes. Carefully he retreats a few steps and hides in the shadow of one of the apple trees. He does not mean to eavesdrop, but dares not to move either.

"It was more than sufficient, Master Cenric. You have my gratitude."

"Thank you, my lord."

"There is something I wish to talk to you about, Master Cenric," he declares then adds, "In private if this is possible?"

"I will go find Wulf," Lisswyn's uncle replies, before he steps past his older brother and walks back to the camp.

"What is it, my lord?" Éomer hears Cenric ask.

"I…," Théodred hesitates, pulling his guts together. Everything will depend on how he poses the question; it only takes him a moment to decide – straight forward, just like the man he is talking to. With one last deep breath, he picks up his sentence again. "I wish to ask for your permission to marry your daughter."

"Lisswyn?" Cenric sounds utterly surprised.

"The first shieldmaiden, yes." Théodred is as calm as a cat. Lisswyn's father, however, needs to take a moment.

"I guess I should be honoured." Surprise has turned into scepticism "But I am afraid I cannot afford the bride price."

"There is no bride price, Master Cenric. All I ask for is her hand in marriage."

Théodred's words cause a moment of silence. Éomer feels his heart racing with anxiety. He strains his ears to hear whatever will be said next. Cenric's answer is too important…

"What does Lisswyn say?"

"I have not asked her yet. I wished to have your permission first."

Another pause arises before Cenric continues, "Let me tell you something about my daughter, my lord." His voice sounds calm and confident now. "Lisswyn is an independent, strong woman. She has always been and is only happy if she does what her heart tells her. That is why I accepted her wish to become a shieldmaiden despite her being already promised to someone. The betrothal was called off and I paid the bride price. It put my family into a great debt which still stands to this day, but I would have done it even if the price had been twice as high. I'd do anything to make her happy."

"So will I, Master Cenric," Théodred does not let the horse breeder's reluctance deter him.

Cenric studies the prince for a long moment. His face is open and there is no falsehood in his eyes or in the sound of his voice. This man, the heir of Rohan, seems to truly care about his daughter, maybe even love her. Cenric tilts his head to the side before he replies with a low voice, "Then do not ask me, my lord."

Dazzled by this answer, Théodred needs a moment to find his words again. He frowns. Was that a yes or a no? He cannot tell and needs clarification. "Whom shall I ask instead?"

"Lisswyn." The way Cenric speaks the name it sounds like a hiss. "It's her decision. Whatever she says, I will consent to."

At a loss for more words, the two men look at each other. The tension between them is palpable, even twenty feet away and behind an apple tree.

Théodred is the first to recover. "Fair enough. I thank you, Master Cenric," he accepts the unexpected outcome of their conversation with bewilderment.

For yet another moment the two men stare at each other before Cenric turns to walk back from the horse pasture towards the family's fire and speaks again, "How about some airag, my lord?" he offers Théodred gently. After all, this man, the heir of Rohan, might become his son-in-law some time soon.

Together they walk back to the yurts.

"Airag?"

"Fermented mare's milk, quite strong."

The voices trail off as the two men disappear between the yurts.

Swallowing hard, Éomer tries to gulp down the pain in his throat which came when he heard his cousin ask Lisswyn's father for her hand in marriage. Breathing feels hard as an iron grip settles around his ribcage. He closes his stinging eyes and remembers the sight of her face just a few minutes ago, when Wilrun teased them about looking like a family. Oh, how he wishes to do just that. Build a family with her.

At the family's fire his heart had ached and urged him to tell her, that he would do it within the blink of an eye. Yet his mind had objected, 'she is Théodred's territory, you told him so yourself.' So he fought down his wish to reveal his feelings for her and Lisswyn had blushed and acted insecure.

It has been many years since he last saw her insecure around him. Before his inner eyes he sees her beautiful face … beautiful, yes, that is what he thinks of her now. Her round boyish face from her first days at Edoras has changed with adolescence into a beautiful oval-shape with defined cheekbones, her nose no longer too long, just prominent, her eyes round and warm, her lips soft and inviting…

Too late, his mind tells him as his heart clenches. I cannot have her. She will be Théodred's wife.

Taking a deep breath he pushes himself off the tree's bark and walks back towards the circle of yurts fighting hard to win back his composure.

~ S ~

Stepping back into the low light around the campfire, Théodred casts a questioning look towards the first shieldmaiden. "Your father offered me a mug of airag, Lisswyn."

Surprised she looks up from her yarning to meet his eyes.

"Is it safe trying?" he asks her playfully and receives a warm laugh.

"Only the hardened Éorlingas of the Wold can handle a mug of airag, my lord, be careful," she replies laughing again.

"Then I shall try one, Master Cenric," he tells her father with a friendly smile. From the corner of his eye he sees Éomer stepping closer towards the fire to his right. "Éomer, where have you been?"

"Checking on the men."

"Drink some airag with us," Théodred invites him and then turns towards Lisswyn's father. "Bring one for my cousin as well, please, Master Cenric."

Although it was worded as a request, the horse breeder knows when he received an order from his lord. Forcing himself to remain calm he obeys, casting a worried look at the younger prince. Éomer's face is a mask, his expression hard like solid rock. Something is bearing the young man down, and Cenric has a slight idea what this might be.

Ever since Lisswyn brought him to his yurt at the Edoras horse fair in her third year of shieldmaiden training, he liked the young prince. As he watched the two grow into close companions he came to see him as someone he wished to call his son – even if only by law.

Of course, Cenric never dared to hope for a marriage between Lisswyn and Éomer, but it was plain to him how good they matched. Perhaps his hunch was not so bad after all. Perhaps feelings had grown into this direction over time? Only, it was the other prince who just asked for Lisswyn's hand in marriage, not Éomer.

Wondering what the future might bring, he pulls out a large wooden flask from the storage section in the old barn and takes four mugs from a shelf on the side. With these he returns to the bonfire.

"…the wool and skins won't bring much money at the fair, my lord," he hears his brother say. "The shepherds, hunters and trappers who come to Edoras have a lot more to sell. But usually we are able to sell everything off to a lower price at the last day of the fair."

"How many supplies do you have to buy for the next winter?" the heir asks Cenulf while Lisswyn's father hands them a mug each. Turning around, he offers one to Éomer, but the younger man does not react. Cenric follows his gaze and sees his daughter yarning a large bundle of brown wool.

Yes, maybe his hunch was not so wrong after all. He hears his brother answer the heir's question.

"We want to purchase three new goats, and of course a cart full of hay and some vegetables and grain."

Feeling for Éomer, Cenric coughs quietly and the prince's head snaps up to look at him. "A mug of airag, son?" Lisswyn's father asks him gently. The prince forces a smile into his face as he takes the mug.

While Cenric fills it with the alcoholic milk, Lisswyn speaks up. "Be careful, my lord, too much airag will cause a hangover tomorrow if you are not used to it."

"Thank you for the warning, I'll keep it in mind," Cenric hears Théodred reply.

Whatever Lisswyn will decide in the end, at least one man will be left with a broken heart.

* * *

**Please, be patient. The second part of this chapter probably won't be finished before the end of May. I am not abandoning this story, promised! It is just: real life has a tendency to go on regardless. But, please, leave a review. It helps me so much when writing!**


	9. Listen to your heart

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> sorry for the long wait. My life is pretty busy right now and will continue to be like this until August. So, updates may come slow but they will come! Please, stick with me and Lisswyn, and be patient ;-)
> 
> Just as a sidenote to this chapter: We all know what the great hall of Meduseld looks like, thanks to Tolkien and Peter Jackson. But what about the other rooms - the king's bedroom, guest rooms, the kitchen? Nothing. We do get a glimpse into Théodred's bedroom and one of the guest rooms, thanks to Peter Jackson, again. But where at Meduseld are they? I found a very convincing description along with a blueprint in the internet. Look for: middleeartharchitectures .wordpress .com2014/09/27/the-golden-hall-of-edoras-and-the-vikings/
> 
> Note, that for my story, I imagine the yellow guest room to the left as split into two bedrooms for Éowyn and Éomer.
> 
> Special thanks to my amazing writing buddy VoxynQueen, my patient feedback partner jayjay0815 and last but not least my wonderful beta Scribe of the Fanciful. Check out their stories!
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Listen to your heart**

_"Listen to your heart, when he's calling for you_  
_Listen to your heart, there's nothing else you can do_  
_I don't know where you're going and I don't know why_  
_But listen to your heart before you tell him goodbye."_ (Roxette)

* * *

The next morning greets Lisswyn with familiar sounds. With her eyes still closed, she hears her mother, aunt and sister-in-law rummaging around close by at the fireplace she has been sleeping next to under the open sky.

"Get up, young man," her aunt says and a soft thud is followed by an unwilling moan. Lisswyn cracks a smile and opens her eyes. The sun rose above the horizon only half an hour ago, painting her surroundings in the fresh colours of a bright new day. Only few feet away lies her cousin Wulf, still snoozing while Sweterun tries to get him moving.

Lisswyn sits up. The cloak she used as a cover for the night is damp, but the fire is sending out a comforting warmth.

"Good morning, Fauntkin," her mother greets her and Layrun looks up from where she started to cook porridge, smiling at her in greeting.

"Do you want a mug of hot tea?"

"Yes, thank you, Mama."

"If you can stay up all night drinking with the grown-ups, you can get up like a grown up and do your duties the next morning," her aunt reprimands Wulf once more and from the corner of her eye Lisswyn watches him slowly sitting up on his bedroll as well.

"Yeah yeah," he mumbles and rubs his head.

"Long night?" Lisswyn teases him. A grunt is his only answer as Cynewyn comes over to Lisswyn and bending down hands her a mug of tea.

"A new blend?"

"Anise, caraway, fennel, fenugreek and lemon verbena," her mother tells her smiling. "Tell me how you like it." When she straightens up again the old woman groans and rubs her lower back.

"Are you alright?" Lisswyn worries.

"It's only my back, Fauntkin. Plaguing me more every winter." She coughs before adding with a sigh, "but the sheep and goats must be milked no matter what."

"I can do it, Mama. Théodred gave me leave this morning to spend more time with you. I'll just check on him quickly and then see to it."

"Thank you, Fauntkin. It will help me a lot." Cynewyn coughs once more causing Lisswyn to frown. Her mother does not seem to have a cold, but her constant coughing starts to worry the shieldmaiden.

After she finishes her tea Lisswyn rises from her bedroll and takes a moment to stretch taking in the scenery around her. Her father, uncle and brothers are at the pastures, spreading out hay for the animals and filling oat into the mangers. At the riders' camp quite a few tents have been disassembled. The men are already packing up their gear.

Swiftly, Lisswyn walks over there to see if Théodred has any orders for her before he will leave. He told her last night that she would get to stay until midday, with a small group of riders remaining to accompany her before catching up with the others in the afternoon. Coming towards the low fire the riders set up in the middle of their camp she sees Folcred, Wigbald, Éofor and Edgar still sitting there. Obviously these four will be her backup. Across from the four riders, Théodred sits by the fire as well. 'Will he stay until noon as well?' Lisswyn wonders briefly when he looks up to meet her eyes.

"Good morning, my lord. I hope you had a good night's rest?"

"Good morning, Lisswyn. I am afraid I should have listened to your warnings about too much airag," he smiles at her.

"Do you need something against a headache?"

"You have a medicine against it?" he teases her with a smug face.

She smiles at him. "I'll go get some for you, my lord."

"How is your shoulder?" His question stops her.

She hadn't sought Aldwine out like she promised Théodred two nights ago. Obviously the prince anticipated that. Recalling how the corpsman came to her because of her injury, she blushes. "Aldwine said it should heal within a week if I do not overexert it."

"So he looked at it?"

"Aye. I had planned to seek him out today, but he asked me about it yesterday evening. I… I am sorry, my lord."

A soft nod is his only answer before she hesitantly turns around to fetch her mother's tincture against a hangover.

Théodred watches her walking back to the old barn, his eyes coming to rest on the round of her back. He feels his manhood react to it and the wish to hear her call him by his name instead of his title returns. 'Soon,' he tells himself. As soon as she has consented to his wish for courtship he will ask her to call him Théodred openly. Smiling to himself, the prince wonders if she will be as reluctant to do so as she had been when he first asked her to call him by his name while they are alone.

_It was a good six months ago. Erkenbrand sent a report suggesting the orcs ambushing the Westmarch might come from Isengard. Théodred tried to convince his father to send out patrols to their borders to Isengard with smaller vanguards spying out what Saruman might be up to. Soon he found himself in a heated argument with Gríma over the subject, his father only sitting at the side, his face wrinkled and pale, his milky eyes half closed, and staring at nothing. The king's whole posture spoke of absentmindedness._

_In the end Gríma convinced his father to trust in the old alliance with Orthanc. Théodred stormed out of the great hall fuming with anger, Lisswyn at his heels, and rushed down the stairs. He continued striding down the hill towards the horse corrals. He needed fresh air and a clear head. When he reached the first horse enclosure a couple of minutes later, his anger turned into frustration._

_Of course, Lisswyn was still at his heels, he knew it, but when she addressed him with a murmur it startled him nonetheless._

_"I assume, we will visit Helm's Deep again the next few days, my lord?"_

_Had she been a rider, he would have told her to leave him alone. But strangely he felt comfort in her presence and suddenly wished for a further acquaintance between them._

_Turning around he looked at her and gently asked, "How about you stop that?"_

_Puzzlement showed in her face. "Stop what, my lord?"_

_"Calling me 'my lord' all the time."_

_Lisswyn's eyes widened with astonishment. "What do you wish me to call you instead?"_

_"Théodred." He gave her a half smile._

_"I do not believe it will be considered appropriate, my lord."_

_"Théodred," he corrected, half smirking before he agreed, "You are right, it would not, if you call me by my name publicly, but when we are alone, like we are right now, you can call me Théodred."_

_Raising her chin slightly she clenched her jaw for a brief moment before she asked, "Is that an order?"_

_"No, a suggestion," Théodred chuckled._

_"Then I would rather leave it at 'my lord'," she told him cautiously. That she refused his offer baffled him. It stung, he realized, yet he did not wish to show her that he felt offended._

_"Fine," he replied, dragging out the word, before a grin spread in his face. "Then it is an order." He noticed how she swallowed before acknowledging with an incline of her head. "Try it," he ordered her._

_"My lord?"_

_"Théodred, call me Théodred."_

_"Now?"_

_"Yes, say my name."_

_"Théodred." Her voice was barely more than a mumble._

_"Say it again."_

_She inhaled deeply and straightened her back before she spoke up again, clearly audible this time. "Théodred."_

_At the sound of her speaking his name, he tilted his head slightly. "I like that. From now on, when we are alone, I wish you to call me by my name."_

_"Aye my lord."_

_He looked at her with a raised eyebrow. "Théodred."_

_"Théodred," she repeated following his order and the corners of her mouth crept up just a tad._

The crown prince chuckles at the memory. A moment later the first shieldmaiden returns with a mug of water.

"My lord?" she offers him the mug.

"How about you stop that?" he asks her, smirking.

"Stop what, my lord?"

"Calling me 'my lord' all the time?"

Recognition shows on her face and Lisswyn swiftly looks around. They are indeed alone at the fire at the moment since Folcred, Edgar, Éofor and Wigbald left to give them privacy.

Handing him the mug again, she says, "Théodred," then shows him a smile.

"Water?" the prince asks looking at the mug's content with surprise in his voice.

"I added a tincture of my mother's to it. It usually helps against a hangover."

"What is in it?"

"Meadowsweet, valerian and sweet woodruff."

"You are sure this is not going to poison me?" he playfully doubts.

Her sweet laughter warms his heart. "No," she chuckles. "It never killed my father, it will not kill you either."

He takes it and drowns the content with four large gulps. "This tastes terrible." He creases his face and returns the mug.

"Medicine that tastes good does not help," the shieldmaiden answers him with a smug face again. "That's what my mother always says."

"You have lovely ladies in this family," he comments dryly before cracking a wide grin. "Sit by my side, will you?"

"I…," she hesitates. "I promised my mother to help her with the animals." Refusing his offer clearly makes her feel uncomfortable. He gives her a reassuring smile.

"What is it you have to do?"

"Someone has to milk the sheep and goats."

"May I join you? Perhaps I can learn something?"

"You wish to learn how to milk?"

"Sure. Why not?"

"Very well, come along."

"Do we have time yet to see the riders off?"

Turning around, Lisswyn realises that most of the men are about to mount their horses. Éomer is already sitting on Firefoot.

An unfamiliar dull pain spreads in Lisswyn's chest as she watches him preparing to leave. They haven't had a chance to talk again after their moment with Baldric last evening and the awkwardness of the moment still lingers between them.

From the corner of her eye she sees Théodred coming to stand next to her and casting her a side glance as well. "Yes," she murmurs quickly, and Théodred starts to walk over to his cousin. Lisswyn follows him tentatively.

"We'll meet you at the south end of the Wold this evening," Théodred says to his cousin.

Éomer acknowledges with a sharp incline of his head before he turns to look at the men and raises his voice, "On Éorlingas."

Urging his stallion forward, he keeps his head straight, aware of Lisswyn's eyes on him. He dares not to look at her, fearing his feelings for her would show all too clearly, especially to Théodred standing next to her.

Lisswyn notices how Éomer deliberately avoids looking at her. Still she smiles bravely. When Wilrun and Merelis ride past her just after him she raises her right hand in greeting. It takes only two minutes for the company to leave their campsite next to her family's yurts and as soon as the last rider has passed Théodred turns to face the first shieldmaiden.

"Shall we see to the sheep now?"

His cheerful voice raises her mood slightly. Smiling softly, she nods once and turns around. Together they walk back to her family's barn. Next to the barn's door Lisswyn bends down and picks up a wooden stool with a lone leg and presses it against his hard stomach, grinning sheepishly.

Grinning back he takes it, "What is this?"

"A milking stool, my lord. You have to strap it to your…" Leaving the sentence unfinished she motions behind him.

"Théodred!" he reminds her. "Can you help me with this?"

"Of course." Holding out the seat to him she explains, "hold this against your…. backside." Smirking at her hesitation he follows her order. Quickly, she takes the straps hanging from either side of the seat and fastens them around his hips with a loop in front. "There you go." Turning around, she grabs two tin buckets and hands them to him as well, before she fetches another one for herself. "Let's go."

Walking with a milking stool fastened to his behind Théodred feels a fool, but he is determined to learn as much about her life as possible in this one morning.

A soft chuckle from Lisswyn at his side has him look at her. "You are laughing at me?"

"No, my lord... Théodred. I just never realised before how stupid it looks walking around with a milking stool attached to one's rear. It looks like a wooden spike…" she chuckles some more behind her hand.

"Glad I contribute to your amusement," he tells her with mirth and joins her chuckling.

When they reach the sheep and goats, who are already bleating to be milked, Lisswyn quickly grabs one and places it with its hind legs in between her own legs. "You grab a sheep, pull it in front of you like this, then sit down with the milking stool. With your feet in front of the sheep's hind legs you stop it from running away. Then you take the udder and squeeze the teats like this."

Slowly moving her fingers along the teats squeezing it and pulling downwards at the same time she starts to press out the milk.

"The first two dashes from each teat go into the grass the rest into the bucket. And never mix the sheep milk with the goat milk," she warns. "They go in separate buckets."

Without further ado, she takes the sheep from in between her legs and shoves it between Théodred's feet. Carefully the prince lowers himself to sit on the stool which has only one leg like a bee's spike. Holding his balance will be the hardest task, he muses, but soon learns his assumption to be incorrect. Cautiously, he takes the teats and starts pressing and pulling. But no milk comes out. Instead the sheep bleats in protest. He tries again, but to no avail. Feeling her eyes on him he inhales deeply before asking, "What am I doing wrong?"

"Your pressing the teat shut, you have to squeeze it so that the milk can come out… look," she tells him, going down in a crouch next to him. Tentatively her hands come to rest on top of his and she moves his fingers with hers. Her touch feels soft and warm and Théodred has to remind himself to not lace his fingers in hers but pay attention to what she is doing. A spurt of sheep's milk hits the bottom of the tin bucket with a distinct sound.

Smiling, he turns his head to look at her. Her face is only inches away from his and he can smell her warm soft scent. It reminds him of a summer breeze with a hint of vanilla. Her hair glows almost golden in the bright morning sun and her eyes are a deep green.

When she looks at him her cheeks turn red and she bashfully coughs. "Try again."

Grinning, he turns back to the sheep, but without her help he just cannot get the milk from the teats. Bleating indignantly, the sheep dashes forward and frees itself from his grasp, pulling him out of balance on his one-legged milking stool. With a yelp and a quick step forward, Théodred avoids falling on his nose. Behind him Lisswyn bursts out in a warm laugh.

A smirk creeps into the heir's face and he playfully raises one eyebrow. "Why do I feel like I am being tested here?"

Still chuckling she replies, "You aren't. You offered to help yourself, remember?" Her voice sounds daring and he gives her credit for her answer.

"Good point. I consider it a challenge nonetheless."

"Alright."

With three strides and a skilful grip she catches another sheep and puts it between his legs.

The prince lowers himself again, balancing on the milking stool's spike and reaching for the udder. When his fingers squeeze the teats again the sheep starts to bleat and with his right hind leg kicks at the prince's hand. Struggling to get a good hold on the protesting animal, he reaches forward and pulls it back against him before he reaches for the teats again, but does not get a proper hold of them. The sheep starts to kick and twist between his legs until it is free again.

At his side Lisswyn sniggers, "You fumble with the teats like you've never touched one before in your life."

When his head shoots up, a surprised expression on his face, she hastily murmurs, "Forgive me, my lord. That was inappropriate."

Théodred simply laughs, a warm and hearty laugh before he looks at her with amused sparkling eyes. "No, it was funny, Lisswyn," he tells her still chuckling.

Now it is her turn to look surprised and the prince continues, "I like it when you tease me. And it is still Théodred when we are alone…"

She blushes violently.

"Do I get another try?" he asks softly trying to ease her embarrassment.

"Sure," she puffs and grabs the sheep who has just freed herself from the prince's grip and pushes her in between his legs again.

Crunching down next to Théodred, Lisswyn directs his fingers once more, explaining how to squeeze the teats properly for milking. After a couple of unsuccessful attempts the prince finally hears the splashing sound of liquid hitting the tin bucket's bottom.

"There you go. It's not that difficult is it?" Lisswyn asks him, mirth in her voice, and he can't help it and smirks at her.

"Not with the right teacher," he teases her back. The double meaning of his answer escapes the first shieldmaiden and Théodred is thankful for it. He wouldn't want to embarrass her more than she already felt the past five minutes.

When he has finished milking the sheep, Lisswyn offers to do the rest, but he insists on milking them all and so the task takes twice as much time as it usually does.

~ S ~

A good hour after the two started out with empty buckets they return to the family's fire place.

Her mother looks up to greet them with a smile. "Thank you, Darling. Layrun is ready with the porridge, so you can put the sheep milk in the fire to heat it for yoghurt."

"Aye, Mama."

While Lisswyn hangs the tin buckets onto the potholder above the fire-pit, Layrun hands Théodred a bowl of porridge with stewed apples.

The men of the family are already sitting around the camp fire eating their breakfast. In the open space between the two smaller yurts, Éofor and Folcred are giving Wulf basic fighting instructions. Wigbald acts as his opponent. The young man is visibly enjoying the exercise.

"Thank you." The prince takes the bowl with a polite nod of his head and sits down on one of the logs surrounding the fire. When Lisswyn takes a bowl for herself only a minute later, he motions with his head for her to sit by his side, smiling fondly.

As she follows his wish she notices her parents exchanging a look and a reassuring smile appears on her father's face as he locks eyes with her.

Lisswyn wonders briefly what he is trying to tell her, when a shout of surprise has all of them look over to where Wulf enjoys his first sword play lesson. The youth is lying on his back, his practice weapon a few feet away from him on the ground. To prevent the boy from getting any severe injuries, Wigbald and Wulf are both using long sticks freshly cut from one of the apple trees instead of real swords. A wise decision, considering the intensity of their sparring. As Lisswyn watches, Wigbald jerks his stick violently at Wulf's exposed throat, before pulling back at the last moment and offering the youth a hand to help him back up.

"I hope my men did not ruin your trees for their practice swords, Master Cenric," Théodred addresses Lisswyn's father.

"No, my lord, the trees needed cutting anyway and my wife and sister-in-law were already harvesting. It was a good opportunity to give the tree a pruning back long overdue."

"Good."

For a moment they all watch the mock fight again. Wigbald and Wulf are circling each other, the youth jumping forward a couple of times trying to place a hit on Wigbald. The rider has not become one of Théodred's closest men without a reason though. He parries every move with ease and even starts a couple of attacks himself, but Wulf has picked up on the basic parries quickly and defends himself successfully.

"Your son has quite a talent for sword fighting, Master Cenulf. He would make a good rider," Théodred addresses Lisswyn's uncle, his eyes still following the sword play beyond the circle around the fire pit.

"I am sure he would beam with pride if you told him, my lord. He wants to come to Edoras next summer to start the training."

"Good," the prince nods, then turns his head towards Lisswyn. "Do you think he would enjoy fighting me?"

Her eyes dart over to where Wulf is still crossing sticks with Wigbald. "I think he would love to and feel honoured, but be too embarrassed to agree to it."

Putting down his empty bowl, Théodred rises from the log and starts to walk over to the makeshift practice ground. With an amused smile, the first shieldmaiden watches him talk to her cousin before he takes Wigbald's stick and positions himself opposite of Wulf. The prince takes it easy on her cousin. She can tell by the way he holds himself and moves, but the teenager is completely into it.

The situation reminds her of her best friends: Éowyn and Éomer.

_At the beginning of her third year at Edoras, Éomer started to spend his free time with Lisswyn openly. Sometimes they would ride out together, just the two of them, but most of the time he simply took her along when spending time with his friends, Wigbald, Hefric, Felaróf, Dunsig and Torfrith. More often than not it meant extra practice for their training._

_On one of these days Éomer came out to the practice fields with his sister in tow. Éowyn had just turned thirteen. She was a sweet girl, still small and slender, but her body showed the first signs of womanhood._

_When Éomer introduced the two girls to each other, an awkward moment followed, because they both did not know what to say. The prince eased the situation by suggesting a knife throwing session. Together they walked over to the targets in silence._

_At first Éowyn shyly watched them throwing for a while. When Éomer turned it into a competition the princess started cheering on Lisswyn. Éomer pretended to be offended and soon they were all laughing with each other._

_It was then Lisswyn offered to show Éowyn how to throw a knife while the boys started some swordplay. The younger girl beamed with joy. Soon she overcame her shyness and started talking about how much she had admired Lisswyn on the day of the riding games for Théoden's and Théodred's birthday celebrations when Lisswyn won the ring riding. She babbled on about how much she wished to be like her and become a shieldmaiden and soon Éomer offered to show her how to swordplay, too._

_From then on they made it a routine: First Lisswyn, Éomer and his friends would practice for their training, then they would include Éowyn in some of their easier exercises and show her some basics in swordplay, knife throwing, archery, grappling or even spear throwing._

_It was obvious the young princess lacked the physical strength to start shieldmaiden training any time soon, but they kept the training up for many weeks just for the fun of it._

Quite often when Éomer had a mock fight with his little sister they looked like Théodred and Wulf are looking now: Éowyn was concentrating and throwing all her efforts into the fight while Éomer just stood there and parried her attacks with a cocky ease.

A smile creeps onto Lisswyn's face as she watches Théodred easily spinning out of Wulf's way and parading his attacks with nonchalance. She hadn't noticed before that Rohan's heir could be as cocky as his cousin. Her smile widens into a grin before her mind returns to the old memory.

_It was after a couple of weeks of training together that Lisswyn's friendship with Éowyn started. The shieldmaiden novice was not used to having a female friend. Growing up with two brothers and a cousin she had always been around boys, adopting their behaviour and their habit of mainly valuing practical things. That didn't change when she came to Edoras to be the only shieldmaiden novice in the last three years._

_Although her friendship with Éomer started off roughly it felt natural after a while. He was like her brothers or cousin. After a while even his friends accepted her as one of the group._

_With Éowyn it was different. The princess introduced her to things girls normally liked: how to wear a dress with grace and dress her hair openly on a night of dancing to be more womanly. How to use the buckle the king gave her as a piece of jewellery rather than a clasp to her cloak. How to sit straight, hold her chin up and her chest out at a dinner table. It didn't take long for Lisswyn to discover that she liked her feminine side._

_One afternoon Éowyn showed her a new dress designed to fit tightly around her chest, emphasizing the princess' juvenile breast. "You look more a woman than me in it, although I am three years your senior," Lisswyn commented smiling, but secretly felt envious about the fact that Éowyn had as much breast as she herself._

_"Oh, breasts," Éowyn sighed in played annoyance. "They may look nice, round and fleshy, especially the size my brother prefers, but they do not help you when holding a sword. I wish I could be more like you."_

_Soon this became a running joke between the two girls; Lisswyn wishing her slender trained body would be more like Éowyn's, curvy and womanly. While Éowyn wished to be physically more like Lisswyn, trained and with the slender muscles of a warrior._

_One afternoon a couple of weeks later, when Éowyn was called back to Meduseld for some writing or reading lessons, Éomer suddenly sighed as he watched her leave._

_"What is it?" Lisswyn asked him._

_"She is really determined to follow in your footsteps, but honestly, I don't see her becoming a shieldmaiden."_

_"She is still young and very small, she will grow and build muscles."_

_"She is almost as old as you were when you entered the training and you had a lot more physical strength back then, not to mention now."_

_"She will grow stronger."_

_"You mean, she will grow even more womanly. She already has as much breast as you have, tomboy," his voice was smug, it was meant as a jest, but it pinpointed in an awfully painful manner at what Lisswyn had noticed with trepidation when the princess showed her the new dress a couple of weeks ago._

_"I may not look like the women you follow with your eyes, but at least I am not a beanpole!" Lisswyn snapped and stomped off towards the stables._

_He came for her a couple of minutes later and apologized. She felt like a fool for having reacted the way she did..._

Her father, uncle and brothers rising from their seats by the fire pulls Lisswyn out of her old memory before her mind can hang on to the thoughts about Éomer. The prolonged break watching Wulf fighting Rohan's heir is obviously over, and the men turn towards the horse pastures.

"Can I help you with anything, Papa?" Lisswyn quickly asks him.

She can hear Déor puff with disdain as he starts to walk past her, but Cenric ignores it and answers her instead. "We have to separate the foals and their mothers from the rest of the herd. Come along, if the prince allows it. Two more arms and legs are always a help."

"Why bother remembering your roots when you charmed yourself all the way up the ladder of beds at the Edoras court?" Her younger brother scoffs at her.

"Watch your mouth, Déor," her father warns, looking over his shoulder at his younger son.

"Is it not true? First the young prince and now Rohan's heir? Your service must be outstanding-"

"Déor," Cenric's voice is sharp like a knife.

Looking down at her with disdain, her brother turns around and follows Cenulf and Bertric towards the pastures while her father gives her a regretful smile.

"He does not mean what he says, Lambkin. Your mother and I know that you would never do what he just suggested out of wedlock." With his eyes full of sorrow over Déor's words, he slowly turns around as well.

"Father?" her voice stops him in his movement. "I have to ask you something."

Turning back to face her he asks, "What is it?"

"Déor told me last night, that my bride price was doubled when you called off the betrothal. Is it true?"

She can see her father's jaw tighten. He is biting down hard. It is confession enough, but she wants to hear it from him nonetheless. "Why did you never say anything?"

"I wanted you to be free to do what your heart told you. The money is not important to me, you are."

"But it…," words fail her.

"It is alright, Lambkin." He strokes her head and tickles the back of her neck like he used to do when she was still a child and upset about something. "Just... promise me that you will always listen to your heart. Always," he almost chokes on his words.

Looking up, she sees tears in his eyes. The sight of her father becoming emotional has tears welling up in her eyes as well. Yet she feels she has to resolve this now. "Why do you put me before Déor?"

"I don't," he clips.

"Yes, you do. You rendered it possible for me to pursue my dreams. Even Wulf and Bertric are allowed to live the lives they want. Only Déor cannot. That is unjust." She has argued herself nearly into rage, her voice rising towards the end.

Her father, however, manages to remain calm. "It takes the families of two men to keep up all this," he makes and encompassing gesticulation at the corrals and the camp. "It was a family decision."

"Did you ask Déor if he agrees?"

"No."

"Why not?" Lisswyn is still upset.

"Because sometimes you are not free to do as you please. Everybody has to make sacrifices at one point or another," he lectures her with a forced calmness.

"This is not a very good answer."

"I don't have a better one," he tells her flatly. "I have to go chase the horses now."

Lisswyn lets out a deep sigh, but it does not ease the weight that rests on her chest and makes breathing hard. "I just need to ask Théodred."

"Of course." Cenric clips and turns around starting to walk to the horse pastures.

Watching him walk away from her like the rest of the men in her family, Lisswyn feels it with full force. She is not a full-valued member of this family any longer. Déor's accusations the previous night were more than just injured pride, they held a truth as well. The realisation lies heavy on her heart. Swallowing down her tears and taking a deep breath, she turns around and walks over to where Wulf is still mock fighting with Théodred. For a moment she watches their fight before she calls Rohan's heir. "My lord?"

He turns around to look at her. Wulf seizes the moment and stabs him with the stick in his back, just hard enough for Théodred to feel it.

"This is treason," the prince calls, laughing at her while his riders cheer on the boy.

"I am sorry," she says smirking. "I had to give him a chance."

He laughs again.

"I came to ask if I may join my family separating the horses?"

"I gave you leave this morning, didn't I? Of course, you may. You need not ask, Lisswyn."

"Thank you, my lord." She blushes again.

"May I come along?" He looks at her, his eyebrows raised.

"It is an exhausting task; a lot of running, clinging to a horse's neck and holding on to a rope." Lisswyn knocks her head to the side and displays a smug face.

Playfully the heir narrows his eyes at her. "Why do I feel like I am being tested again?"

She laughs at him. "You are not. I am just not trained to guard you against my father's horses, my lord," she teases him back.

"I take it I'd better stay out of the way?"

Looking down she tries to think of a witty reply when he suddenly laughs out, his warm hearty laugh again.

"Don't say it, Lisswyn. I will be content watching you." He still chuckles when she looks up blushing. With his hand the prince motions invitingly towards the corral before he calls back over his shoulder, "Wigbald, you have to take over again." With a swift move of his arm he tosses the rider his makeshift practice sword. Wigbald catches it with ease and turns around to face Wulf again.

Théodred and Lisswyn are already halfway to the corrals when the shieldmaiden speaks, "May I ask you something?"

"Of course."

She halts in her tracks. "Déor wishes to become a rider, but my father won't allow it. I feel like it is my fault…" she hesitates.

Théodred tilts his head to get a better look at her face and studies it for a moment. Something is weighing her down, but he refrains from asking. Instead he waits for her to continue.

"I wish there was something I could do, but I can't think of anything."

"Why does your father object to it?" he inquires gently.

"He says it's because my family cannot afford it and that Déor is needed here, but I think it is not right that I was allowed to follow my dreams and he is not."

"Well, I don't have knowledge about horse breeding, but if your father says that Déor is needed here, he probably is."

"But still, it feels unfair that he does not get to do as he pleases," she complains, feeling guilty and distressed at the same time.

The prince takes a deep breath before he speaks. "Sometimes life is not fair, Lisswyn. A lot of people do not get to do as they please. Take me, for example. My life was laid out for me already at my birth. I never had a choice."

She looks at him with sorrowful eyes. What he says is basically the same her father told her just minutes ago.

Théodred squeezes her shoulder gently before he continues, "There were times when I was younger, I hated my fate, but I have come to terms with it. I accept that this is my duty and I can even enjoy it at times."

"Really?" she mumbles.

"Yes."

She nods a couple of times as she processes what Théodred told her before she looks at him again. "Thank you."

"I am glad if I could ease your mind a little."

She nods again and they continue on their way to the corrals.

For a while Théodred watches how they chase the herd around, always closing in on a foal and its mother until one of them gets the chance to capture the foal by its neck and slowing it down long enough for one of the others to pull a holster over his head. Once the foal is secure, the mare is easier to catch in a similar fashion.

It is as Lisswyn said, a task entailing a lot of running. Soon the first shieldmaiden looks heated up, with red cheeks and a sweaty film on her face and neck. Yet her eyes shine brightly from the fun this duty obviously holds for her. The sight reminds Théodred of the last spring feast.

_It was on the twenty-second of Súlimë, two weeks after he told her to call him by his name when they were alone._

_His father was already sick, his mind often clouded, but in between he still had moments when he seemed awake and sound. On this evening he was blessed with a couple of hours with a clear mind. Théodred enjoyed the feast immensely, especially with his father at his side._

_There had been a lot of eating and drinking in the golden hall. When the music and dancing started Théodred was already half drunk and in good spirits. He watched the riders, shieldmaidens, and the people from the city dancing. Without thinking, his eyes searched for Lisswyn. He was not aware of it, but when he had finally detected her he watched her dance with a couple of warriors. After a series of songs he decided to join them, intent on dancing with her as well._

_He snuck up on her from behind after the song had ended. She was about to get something to drink and take a short break, when he unthinkingly grabbed her around the waist and pulled her towards him. His actions startled her. She spun around and raised her hand ready to slap her attacker when she realised who she was about to hit. Her eyes instantly grew wide with horror._

_"I'm sorry, my lord," she stuttered, expecting him to yell at her, accuse her of attacking him and order some punishment upon her, but he only laughed heartily._

_"I'm sorry I startled you so Lisswyn," he purred in her ear. "Would you give me the honour of this dance?"_

_After a moment of puzzlement she tentatively smiled with relief then nodded her consent. It was a fast tune and he spun her around in the middle of the great hall. Her cheeks blushed from the dancing and the alcohol, her eyes sparkling, her hair flying as they took turn after turn. It was then he realised this notion in his heart for the first time; a flutter; and then the wish to kiss her right there._

_He was so startled by the insight that he left the hall immediately when the song had ended. He rushed outside to get his head cleared by the crisp winter breeze that still came down the slopes of the White Mountains. He stood on the dais of Meduseld and looked out into the night, trying to calm his nerves and get a grip of what just happened._

_"Have I done something to upset you, my lord?" Lisswyn had come up behind him, keeping her usual two steps distance._

_His heart made a jump and he could feel it racing again. He concentrated on the warmth spreading in his body at her presence and dwelt a moment on what it might indicate. He inhaled deeply and shook his head before he turned to face her. "You look beautiful tonight," he told her his voice as even and plain as he could make it. "I think I shall retire now. Enjoy the feast." Without waiting for a reply he stepped past her and retreated to his room._

_He couldn't find sleep for a long while. Partly because of the feast that continued right outside his door in the great hall, partly because he tried to figure out if what he felt that night was due to the amount of alcohol he had drunk or if it meant more._

_It was a question that occupied his mind for a couple weeks to come._

~ S ~

For almost an hour they have been separating the horses that are to be taken to the Edoras fair from the rest of the herd when Lisswyn looks over to where Théodred stood earlier watching them. He is not there anymore. Looking up, she notices that the sun has almost reached the zenith. In a short while they will have to leave.

Should she go find Théodred? She decides to help with the horses a little longer. He gave her leave for the morning, that's what he said. He will call her when he wants her back on duty.

Indeed, a sharp whistle calls for her attention about twenty minutes later.

At the corral's fence she can see his impressive figure, his broad shoulders, his massive body, all muscles that contrast sharply with the gentleness of his face.

"I have to go father," she calls over to Cenric.

"I'll see you off, Lambkin."

Quickly Lisswyn runs over to meet Théodred at the fence. "You called for me, my lord?"

"It's still Théodred," he reminds her once more with a soft smile. "I am sorry to interrupt this, Lisswyn, but we have to get moving if we wish to catch up with the company." Regret sounds in his voice.

"I know. By your leave, I'll just quickly wash my face and hands at the spring?"

"Of course."

As she hurries off her father approaches the heir.

"I thank you for allowing me to stay this morning, Master Cenric. To learn more about how Lisswyn grew up."

"It was my pleasure, my lord Théodred."

"I hope to see you again soon."

"My lord, I have a question."

"Yes?"

"The conversation we had last night. Do you expect me to remain silent about it?"

A gentle smile spreads on Théodred's features. "No, Master Cenric. I will ask her as soon as the right situation presents itself."

"I see. Thank you, my lord."

For a short moment another tense silence spreads between the two men. Fortunately it does not take long until Lisswyn comes back, with a wet face and arms, her older brother and uncle at her side.

From the circle of yurts her mother, aunt and sister-in-law with her nephew in her arms approach, ready to say goodbye to the first shieldmaiden. Her cousin Wulf follows with Théodred's riders at a short distance, leading Daeroch. Edgar has his own gelding and the prince's stallion Brego. Only Déor is missing.

~ S ~

Watching the small group of riders disappear behind the cliffs shielding the well from the open plains to the south, a deep sigh escapes the man's lips.

"What is it, Cenric?" Cynewyn asks him caringly.

"Nothing."

"Do not 'nothing' me. We are married for thirty years now. I know you better!"

The horse breeder takes a moment to steady himself. "The prince asked for Lisswyn's hand last night."

Cynewyn's face lights up in joyful surprise and a wide smile graces her face as she asks, "Éomer?"

Her smile falters when her husband turns around to face her with a grim expression on his face.

"No, the other one."

The woman's eyes widen with astonishment. Her head turns to look at the scarp her daughter disappeared behind just moments ago, before she meets her husband's look again. "The king's son?" she whispers incredulously.

"Yes."

"What did you say?" she gasps.

"That it is Lisswyn's decision."

"What did she say?"

"He hasn't asked her yet."

They are silent for a moment.

"She will become queen,"Cynewyn whispers awestruck.

"If she agrees to marry him, yes."


	10. The way home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone,
> 
> since I made you wait for a new chapter for such a long time, here comes a special treat: two chapters on one night :-) 
> 
> I apologize to all the Éomer-shipers in advance: there is not much of him in this chapter, but in the next... oh oh. So, please, stay with me and Lisswyn. Oh, and it is absolutely okay if you like Théodred and at the same time want Éomer to get the girl ;-)
> 
> Special thanks to my amazing writing buddy VoxynQueen, my patient feedback partner jayjay0815 and last but not least my wonderful beta Scribe of the Fanciful. Check out their stories!
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

 

* * *

**The way home**

_"There's just no rhyme or reason_  
_Only a sense of completion_  
_And in your eyes, I see the missing pieces_  
_I'm searching for, I think I've found my way home"_ (Savage Garden)

* * *

The company of six crosses the humpbacked Downs of Eastemnet southwards in a fast gallop. Lisswyn and Théodred ride up front with the four riders behind them, constantly looking out for the rest of the patrol that left the horse breeder's winter camp in the morning.

Although the day started out with bright sunshine, Lisswyn feels the crisp chills of autumn on her forearms as they ride. Only her thick armour and riding boots keep her warm against the steady breeze coming from the Misty Mountains with their snow-covered peaks in the northwest. Rain filled clouds bulk up in the west in the early hours of afternoon.

The small group of riders is barely slowing down throughout their pursuit. Still they catch up on the other twenty-eight only shortly before sundown. The patrol is already preparing a night camp on a plateau at the southern tip of the Wold. With loud cheers they welcome the heir and his company.

Éomer comes to meet his cousin at the camp's edge.

"Give me your report," Théodred orders, riding up to him on Brego before dismounting his stallion right in front of the Marshal.

"One of the wounded's condition continues to worsen."

Théodred takes the information with trepidation, "How bad is it?"

"Aldwine fears he will not make it to the Hornburg."

The heir's head drops and he closes his eyes for a moment. He will go and look after the rider in a while, give him comfort and some words of appreciation in case he really passes on into the next life.

"Anything else?"

"There is absolutely no wood around to make a camp-fire," Éomer continues.

Théodred lets out a deep sigh. "I guess we will be cold then. Who is taking watch?"

"I take second," Lisswyn quickly offers from behind him. Astounded, Rohan's heir turns around.

"I just had half a day liberty, I would like to make up for that," she explains shrugging her shoulders.

"Very well, your wish is granted," Théodred accepts, still a little bewildered.

~ S ~

Without a fire to warm them or even prepare hot water most of the riders retreat to their tents early.

Lisswyn and her two shieldmaiden companions gather in their tent. Outside the night grows cold quickly and it does not take long before it starts to rain, light but steady. Lisswyn sighs inwardly at the soft drumming sound of raindrops on their tent's roof. A cold, dark and wet night and she offered to take second watch freely, what was she thinking?

Merelis is already drifting off into sleep and neither Wilrun nor Lisswyn feel like talking. As the first shieldmaiden tries to stay awake and keep warm before her watch around midnight, her mind wanders to her best friend who is alone now at Meduseld. She knows just how scared Éowyn felt about the prospect of being alone with Gríma and his men in the king's hall.

_A good month after Théodred had moved to the Hornburg, the princess told her that she suspected Gríma of sneaking into her room at night when she was asleep. The thought of what might happen made Lisswyn react instantly. Since she had her own room at the guards' barracks behind Meduseld and was ripped from shieldmaiden duty she could not watch over her friend. In fact she was not even allowed to enter the great hall of Meduseld unguarded as long as she was on trial. It was already getting on her nerves that two of Gríma's men were constantly watching over her. In the great hall there were even more of them, so she avoided being there. Therefore Lisswyn went to see Háma and Aldor, told them about Éowyn's suspicion._

_Three hours later Háma hammered a hook into the princess' bedroom door and a matching loop into the doorframe. It was not as safe as a lock, but to enter Éowyn's room Gríma would still have to use force._

He will not do so, Lisswyn is certain about that. Still, she wishes she could be with her friend now. Trying to calm her own worries, she reminds herself that Éomer will ride to Edoras in a few days and look after his sister.

Éomer – she must try talking to him again before he leaves. There is so much unspoken between them. She feels as if he has grown into a stranger again. She misses his company, but even more so this feeling of being an integral part of his life. How did they drift so far apart? Is it because he had moved to Aldburg?

Shortly before it is Lisswyn's turn to take over watch, the raining ceases. To keep warm, the first shieldmaiden pulls her cloak around her shoulders and puts on a pair of soft leather gloves. With a quick sideway glance she confirms her beliefs: Merelis and Wilrun are both sound asleep. Swiftly she ducks out of their tent and walks over to the plateau's western edge.

"I'll take over," she tells Éofor who stood guard there for the first part of the night. The rider looks at her with a surprised expression on his face.

"Are you sure about this, my lady? I could at least keep you company."

Lisswyn frowns at him. "Of course I am sure. I offered to take second watch. And why do you call me 'my lady' nowadays?" she demands, remembering how he called her 'my lady' as well on the morning after the orc ambush when saddling Daeroch for her.

He looks stunned and offended. "I didn't mean to be derogatory." He counters flatly, biting back the urge to call her 'my lady' once more.

For a moment the two warriors stare at each other. "I shall not bother you any longer with my presence." His reply speaks of his hurt pride and also of the need to stay civil with her. With a sharp incline of his head, he steps backwards and makes his way to his tent.

Lisswyn follows him with her eyes. Did she unknowingly step on his toes these past few days? She can't remember.

Of course, Éofor and her have never been friends or anything close to that, yet they always treated each other as equals in the past. His obvious alienation towards her is new. It is like an itch to Lisswyn's self-assurance. Determined to not let this impair her watchfulness, she turns around to look at the plains to the south and west of their plateau.

Dark clouds chase across the sky and a brisk wind plays with the hem of her cloak. The shieldmaiden rubs her gloved hands against each other while her eyes trail across the rolling hills and downs. Scattered across the vast lands of Eastemnet are three small dots of light. The bonfires at some herdsmen's winter camps, or maybe even a small farm?

Far in the distance to the west, the Entwash winds its way through the fen sundering the hard turf grasslands of Eastemnet from the rich soils of Westemnet with its crop and grain fields. In the cold light of a half hidden moon the river looks like a silver band. Following its curving route, Lisswyn suddenly catches a motion.

She strains her eyes to make out what it is, but to no avail. It is not coming in their direction but moves quickly towards the southwest. A lone figure, or maybe two? Another shadow seems to join the first, then all seem to melt together into a dark mist before the motion suddenly disappears. Lisswyn blinks a couple of times, trying to focus on the landscape at the horizon, but there is nothing there. It must have been a delusion. She lets her eyes roam over the rolling hills closer to their camp again.

~ S ~

After two hours of tossing and turning on his bedroll Théodred decides to get up. The rain has stopped and the frosty night air might help clear his head. Stepping outside of the tent he shares with Éomer he notices a small slender figure a couple of yards away from camp. Lisswyn has taken her position for the second night watch. It is fairly dark without the glow of a warming fire and the stars and moon above half hidden behind dark grey clouds. He hopes she is wearing her riding gloves. The gloves he gave her for her birthday four months ago.

_They had just returned to Edoras after one of their patrols. It was a fake patrol, set up only to provide Erkenbrand with fresh weapons from the Edoras armoury. They had been away four days to keep the pretence up and during their time in the Westfold, Théodred recognized how Lisswyn always drank a special brand of tea in the morning, warming her fingers against the hot mug. One morning he asked her about the tea blend and unconsciously made a mental notice for himself._

_They had just come back from their patrol to Edoras and started walking up the stairs to Meduseld when his cousin Éowyn came running down the stairs to meet them: "Lisswyn. I am so glad you return today," she beamed and threw her arms around the first shieldmaiden. Behind her came Éomer with a big smile._

_Théodred looked at him. "I didn't expect you to be here already."_

_"Yes, I came a couple of days earlier than usual for my monthly report, to be here for Lisswyn's birthday." With a big smile the younger prince knocks his head in the shieldmaiden's direction._

_"Lisswyn's birthday?"_ _Theodred asked in a low voice, clearly baffled by this revelation._

_"Yes, it is her birthday today. You didn't know?"_

_"No, I… I must have forgotten. She didn't say anything."_

_"She's not one to make a fuss of it."_

_Then it was Éomer's turn to hug the first shieldmaiden and congratulate her on her twenty-sixth birthday. Éowyn beamed with joy "We have something for you," pointing at her brother and herself._

_"What is it?" Lisswyn asked, excited._

_"Surprise!" Éowyn brought forth a dark brown leather browband for a bridle with inlayed silver letters: DAEROCH._

_"Oh," Lisswyn marvelled at it. "That is… beautiful!"_

_"It was his idea," the princess said pointing at her brother again._

_"I have a leatherworker at Aldburg who made it. I hope you like it."_

_"Thank you so much," her voice was full with admiration. "It is…. perfect!"_

_Théodred had been watching their friendly exchange quietly. His cousins' present was indeed perfect. Feeling guilty about not having remembered Lisswyn's birthday and being without a similar valuable present, he stepped closer._

_"Happy birthday, Lisswyn. I am sorry, I forgot."_

_She blushed at his apology, "Oh, that is alright…" and hesitated for a split second before she addressed him properly, "my lord. I mean, how could you remember everybody's birthday?"_

_"First of all: I am still Théodred. Secondly: you have been my shieldmaiden for six years now. I should have remembered," he chided himself in a soft voice._

_"It's alright, my lord-"_

_"Théodred!" he corrected again, then knocked his head towards the golden hall. "We should go inside and give our report about the situation at Helm's Deep."_

_Together they swiftly climbed the stairs, leaving Éowyn and Éomer behind._

_Later that day when Théodred was sitting at the large table in his father's study, his thoughts returned to the first shieldmaiden and the sweet smile on her face when she looked at his cousins' birthday present. He wished to be the cause for such a smile and felt his heart in his chest, drumming._

_His eyes wandered to an old sideboard in the study. His grandmother's personal belongings were in it: books, shawls, her diaries, a couple of drawings and her jewellery. He recalled what his grandmother once told him. 'Make sure her love for you is like the lamp in the window that guides you home through the darkest night.'_

_He knew Lisswyn did not love him. But what if she could – one day? Could she become the light of his life, would her love guide him home?_

_His head reached for his heart and with a bittersweet smile he realised his heart already knew the answer, ever since the spring feast two months earlier._ _He recalled the flutter in his chest when they had danced, but even more memorable was the overwhelming desire to kiss her. It was not just drunkenness like he had suspected back then. She was more to him and he would have to find out if she was already engaged with someone. Then a new thought struck him: First he needed to go down to the city's leather tailor._

_The perfect opportunity to find out about any existing romances presented itself the next morning. When Théodred stepped outside his room and entered the great hall, Lisswyn was sitting among some of her and Éomer's friends and other shieldmaidens. When she saw him she quickly got up and walked over to him._

_"What are your commands today, my lord?" she asked him with the usual respect._

_He smiled at her. "I hope you celebrated your birthday last night?"_ _By the way she looked at him and hesitated he could tell that his question surprised her._

_"Aye, my lord. We went to a tavern in the city. A couple of us got rather drunk…," the last sentence she admitted in a very low voice._

_"Why don't you take liberty today and rest a little?"_ _Again he surprised her._

_"Thank you, my lord." She inclined her head and was ready to step back when he seized the moment._

_"I am sure your spouse would like to spend the day with you. If you tell me his name I will inform his captain to give him liberty, too."_

_Théodred noticed how Lisswyn started to frown at the word spouse and had to suppress the need to smile at its meaning._

_"I do not have a spouse, my lord", Lisswyn replied as soon as he had finished._

_"But surely someone is courting you?" he inquired._

_"No, my lord."_

_"Oh. How come?" He pressed._

_She took a deep breath before she answered, "The right person has not yet shown themselves. Why do you wish to know?"_

_"Forgive me," he bade her, smiling slightly. "I just wished to make sure that I am not offending anybody if I give you this belated birthday present." From behind his back he produced a small box._

_"My lord?" uncertain she reached out, took the box and opened it. A pair of very soft, brown suede leather riding gloves was inside, matching the colour of her tunic perfectly. She looked up at him with questioning eyes._

_"I noticed how you always warm your hands against your mug of hot tea in the morning and at night. Hopefully they will keep you warm in the future."_

_"Thank you, my lord. But they must have been so expansive…"_

_"Didn't your mother teach you not to ask after the cost of a gift?" He interrupted her with a mischievous smile._

_Suddenly Éowyn was at their side. "What do you have there?" his young cousin asked, looking around Lisswyn's shoulder. When she saw the box's content she beamed, "They are beautiful."_

_Before his cousin could draw everybody's attention towards them, Théodred gently squeezed Lisswyn's shoulder and bowed off. "Enjoy your day, Lisswyn."_

_As he stepped past her he fought hard not to smile like a fool, feeling his heart in his chest again. She was not engaged nor was there any rival. Midsummer would be the perfect opportunity to announce the courtship. All he had to do until then was to get her father's permission._

_Yet the Valar had other plans for him and a good four weeks later Théodred had to move to Helm's Deep…_

Théodred comes back from his memory with a jerk. He has her father's permission now. What seemed to be a blow to his plans in the beginning of Nárië has turned out merely a delay. He can proceed now. This is the perfect moment to do so. Silently he walks over to where Lisswyn holds watch.

"Théodred?" she looks at him, surprised by his appearance at her side.

A fond smile is his only answer before he takes another two steps past her, facing the plains in front of them. It used to be their natural position for many years, him two steps in front of her. It still is when they do not share a moment of privacy or when he asks for her advice.

"Is everything alright?" she asks, her eyes scanning the plains before they come to rest on his back.

"I simply cannot sleep." For his answer he turns his head to the side so he can see her from the corner of his eye, but afterwards he turns back to face the lands to the west again.

"Is something troubling you?"

"Rohan's future," he pauses, still taking in the vast rolling hills in front of him.

Lisswyn recalls how he hinted something would need to be done when they interrogated the farmers and fishermen at the eastern borders. 'Dark times are coming upon us, Lisswyn. I may be forced to…' he said but never finished his thought, only telling her that they would talk about this later. Perhaps the moment was now? Looking at him she asks, "Is the situation that grave?"

"I'm afraid it is." He sighs before he continues, "My father's health withers away with each passing day. If he dies I will be the next king of Rohan. It is a frightening thought."

"You were raised to be king one day. In a way you already are, ever since our king became ill and you left Edoras to watch over Rohan from Helm's Deep."

"What if something happens to me?" his head turns to the side again, but only briefly. Looking back out on the plains, he answers his question for himself, "I have no heir. Éomer is the last in Éorl's line. I have to ensure its continuation."

The turn of their conversation surprises the first shieldmaiden for a brief moment, but thinking about it she realises that he has a just point. He needs to get married and have children. The thought sends a sting of disappointment to her heart. They have grown really closely acquainted with each over the past five months and even more so on this journey. He flirted with her, charmed her, teased her. She has come to like his humour, his attention, the way he speaks and treats her. With a slight pang of jealousy, she realises that she will miss him once she is no longer the sole recipient of his attentions.

"Are you already courting someone?" she asks, her voice suddenly coarse now.

His head quickly turns to look at her and Lisswyn becomes aware of what she just asked. "I am sorry. It is not my place to ask such things. I overstepped. I apologise."

In the meantime, Théodred has fully turned around to face her, his face and eyes becoming soft. "I do have someone in mind, yes."

Uncertain how to reply, Lisswyn only blinks at him. Is he telling her all of this to carefully prepare her for the announcement of his courtship to one of the noble ladies in a couple of days? So that she knows things have to change back to how they were before he asked her to call him by his name? So she will not be too disappointed that all the flirting and attention meant nothing? Giving a slight nod with her head, she averts her eyes, feeling insecure under his scrutiny.

"I only recently had the opportunity to ask her father for his permission to marry her," the prince continues, his voice soft, his eyes still on her. "He said it would be your decision."

Her decision? Her eyes dart over to look at him. Did she hear him correctly? And if so, why does she have a word in the matter? She does not even know whom they are talking about. Or does he mean…? Confusion blurs her mind and shows on her face. "I do not understand," is all she can say, her voice shaking.

"I asked your father, Lisswyn," he almost whispers.

Unable to speak, her lips form the words silently, "My father?" Her eyes dart about as she tries to make sense of it all.

The corners of Théodred's lips come up to a warm smile. "Will you permit me to court you?"

Her lips part with a surprised intake of breath and her eyes widen in shock. She tries to form the right words, but nothing comes out. She has not been imagining things, he was actually courting her these past two weeks.

"Does this come as such a surprise to you?" His right hand comes up and brushes her left cheek as he tries to put a loose strand of hair behind her ear, his eyes holding hers. "After all the attention I gave you, all the hints?"

"No, I… I mean… I am your shieldmaiden," she finally stammers. "I… I am a commoner. I thought you'd be required to marry a woman of noble birth, with a title and rank?"

"Being the first shieldmaiden you are of rank, Lisswyn. But that is not what is important to me. You are the only woman I can see myself with. The only one I wish to have at my side."

His confession overwhelms her. Her eyes dart around as if she is looking for a way out of a trap, her lips tremble slightly and her breath becomes shallow. His gentle demeanour and most of all his words of affection slowly sink into her mind, leaving her to blush violently. Her throat is all of a sudden dry as a bone.

Gently, Théodred caresses her left cheek with his thumb just like he had done at Sarn Gebir, only this time the situation does not call for kissing.

"Think about it, but don't have me wait too long for your answer, please," he gently tells her. "I will take over your watch now. Go, get some rest."

"No," she quickly objects, looking into his eyes again, "My time is not over yet…"

Her sudden reply startles him. For a split second he thinks her 'no' to be the answer to his wish for courtship. But no, she only meant to stay on watch.

"I fear your mind is a little preoccupied now," he tells her, his voice soft.

She swallows hard and blinks.

Slowly, the prince leans forward and places a soft kiss on her forehead. "It is alright. I cannot sleep anyway. Get some rest."

Haltingly she nods her consent, then turns around to walk back to the camp. After a few steps she turns around again to look at Théodred, but he is already facing the opposite direction, his posture proud and confident. This man, Rohan's heir, truly wishes to court her. Still confused, she continues her way back to her tent. Shivering, she slips inside and into her bedroll. Pulling her woollen cloak around and up to her chin, she closes her eyes. Yet sleep will not come for a long time. Théodred's confession, his wish to court her, keeps her mind awake.

~ S ~

A soft tap on her arm and a familiar voice calling her name wakes her up the next morning. Sleepily she rubs her eyes, blinking them open against the day's light seeping in through the tent's light fabric.

"How late is it?" she asks worriedly, pushing her upper body off her bedroll.

"You are the last one to wake", Wilrun tells her, smiling gently, "Everyone is ready to leave."

At her words panic rises within the first shieldmaiden. "Why did you not wake me earlier?"

"Because Théodred ordered me to let you sleep."

In all haste Lisswyn crawls out of her bedroll and leaves the tent. Indeed, the camp around is almost completely disassembled. Hurriedly she and Wilrun pack up their bedrolls and saddlebags and wrap up their tent. By the time they are done, Edgar already waits for Lisswyn, holding the reins of her stallion for her to take over. Théodred sits in his saddle and looks straight on into the direction they will be heading for the rest of the day. He does not even acknowledge her when she rides up behind him. Nothing of the feelings he confessed the night before shows. Briefly, Lisswyn feels a stab to her heart at his neglect towards her. She brushes it off, wondering if something happened, as the heir signals for the company to get moving.

As they trot across the soft rolling hills of Eastemnet, the first shieldmaiden's mind takes up the thoughts she had during the night. What would her life be like at the prince's side? Would she lose the independency she feels being a shieldmaiden? Would she end up caught at the royal court in Edoras? Or would she retain her freedom to go out riding or walking across the plains like she does on her off duty days? Would she get used to the constant attention? To being guarded all the time? How would the Éorlingas react to her being their future queen? Does she even want to become a princess and queen one day? And most importantly, would she come to love Théodred, like her brother Bertric and his wife Layrun came to love each other?

When she came to the point that she hadn't got an answer to either of those questions last night, she gave in to her tiredness and fell into an exhausted sleep. She doesn't feel any wiser this morning. In fact, most of these questions make her feel scared. The only thing that eases her worries is the thought of Théodred's confession. 'You are the only woman I can see myself with. The only one I wish to have at my side.' A small smile creeps into her face. He… loves her? That is what his confession means, doesn't it? So, he would be there for her, helping her to adjust to the new situation if she agrees. Or not? Even more questions come to mind, each making her more anxious than the last...

When Lisswyn realises her thoughts are spinning around in a circle again with no answers in sight, she forces herself to concentrate on Daeroch's movements underneath her. She feels in her hips his relaxed strides in the slow trot they are riding. It's a regular beat moving her hip down and forward with each step. Left-right-left-right…

~ S ~

After a good hour of riding across the plains towards the Entwade under a grey sky, a drizzle sets in, dampening everybody's mood. When they reach the Entwash flood plain to follow the marshy banks south, the river is hidden from their sight by thickets of reed and rush. Occasionally wild ducks, geese and other water birds flee from the cane on their side of the river with loud protesting quacks. Only the herons seem unfazed by the large number of people and horses.

After three hours the company comes upon a group of four shepherds with their flocks, more than a hundred animals all together. The men seem frightened at first, ducking into the reeds and hiding under their coats' hoods. Yet when they recognize the approaching riders half circling them in against the river in their back as those of the Riddermark, relief shows in the shepherd's faces.

"Thank Béma, my lords, it is you," the eldest exclaims, stepping forward from the rushes and pulling back his hood to greet the company.

"Greetings Master shepherd, where are you heading?" Éomer addresses the four men.

"To the horse fair at Edoras, my lord."

At his words Lisswyn remembers having seen the eldest of them at the fair every year since her childhood. Her father sometimes even bought a couple of sheep from him. Studying his wrinkled, weather-worn face, the crow's feet wrinkles around his eyes and his grey beard and hair, she desperately tries to recall his name.

"And whom where you expecting, if I may ask?" The biting tone in Théodred's voice pulls her out of her musing. The prince clearly is in a sour mood this day and the first shieldmaiden wonders if it has to do with her not having answered his request for courtship last night.

"We thought you might be more of those riders who came upon us the night before yesterday…," the man continues, but does not seem to realise how much the king's son wishes for him to elaborate.

"Tell me about them." Théodred swiftly dismounts his stallion, signalling his intent to listen. Lisswyn, Wilrun, Edgar and Folcred quickly follow the heir's lead and come to stand guard around him. As usual Lisswyn's right hand rests on the hilt of the knife she wears in a holster around her right upper leg.

"It was frightening, my lord. They were like ghosts-" The old grey-haired shepherd starts to talk, but one of the others excitedly joins the conversation, cutting him off.

"They weren't riders of Rohan, my lord. That much is clear, but where they came from, we cannot tell."

"They wore all black attire and rode on black horses with black armour," the old man speaks again.

"And their voices were like a cold winter storm." Now the youngest pipes in.

Before the conversation ends in an undistinguishable cacophony, Théodred raises his hand to silence them. He turns his head towards the old shepherd, now clearly addressing him. "And they came past here?"

"We met them a day's travel to the north of here. They asked for a way to the Gap-" the grey-haired starts to talk again, but the youngest cannot hold his tongue.

"We told them they would have to cross the Entwash first at the Entwade and showed them the direction." He points behind him to the southwest.

"My lord?" Lisswyn suddenly calls for Théodred's attention from behind his right shoulder. Turning around he looks at her, annoyed by this new disturbance. "Yes?"

"I thought I saw something last night, a shadow moving across the plains towards the Entwade."

Théodred's eyes narrow and he tilts his head questioningly.

"I couldn't make out what it was exactly, it was like a bodiless darkness and then it suddenly disappeared."

"You should have said something about this." His voice is sharp and disapproving.

"I'm sorry, I misjudged it."

Théodred studies her face. She must have seen them before he joined her during her watch last night and asked her for permission to court her. Maybe this was the reason she forgot to tell him. Still, he can't leave the dereliction uncommented. "Your judgement fails you quite frequently these days," he says flatly.

The shieldmaiden feels her cheeks flushing with shame. "I'm sorry."

With a slight nod of his head, the heir turns away from her and towards the shepherds again. It wasn't really a scolding, yet Théodred's words and behaviour sting, causing Lisswyn to swallow.

"Do you want us to hunt them down, my lord?" Edgar quickly jumps in, addressing his commander.

"No. The Entwade is the only place where you can cross the river without a boat. If we hurry we can reach it within four hours. I doubt we will find any tracks there in this weather, but we can at least look."

Théodred thanks the shepherds for the information and mounts Brego again. Within a minute the company is on its way in a fast gallop, following the Entwash to the south.

~ S ~

For many miles the river meanders through the plains of Rohan in its deep river bed, the company following its course in the flood plain. The change in the vegetation comes suddenly. The thickets of reed and rush thin out and disappear within half a mile where the river bed widens to a furlong, forming the shallow ford.

As the riders reach the Entwade in the afternoon, the drizzle has ceased but the sun remains hidden behind a grey mass of clouds speeding across the sky. A company of fifteen riders camping at the river's eastern shore awaits Théodred and his men.

Aldor comes to meet them. "Thank Béma, you are safe and sound, my lord," he addresses Théodred as the prince stops his horse next to him.

"Of course I am. What are you doing here?"

"May I speak to you in private, my lord?" Aldor urges.

Dismounting Brego, Théodred tosses the reins over to one of Aldor's riders. Silently the two commanders walk a couple of strides to the side and out of earshot. "What is it?"

"Erkenbrand sent me to meet you here. He thinks it best if you return to the safety of the Hornburg as quickly as possible."

"Why?" Théodred frowns.

"It seems you have a spy of Gríma's amongst your men, the ones who accompanied you to the Anduin," Aldor knocks his head at the riders still on horseback.

"What?" Disbelieving, the king's son spins his head around to look at his men.

"Erkenbrand has proof for it at the Hornburg. He urges you to come back," Aldor lowers his voice further as he explains.

"Do we know who the traitor is?"

"I deem it unwise to discuss this here, my lord. As far as I know the identity of the traitor is not clear yet, but Erkenbrand has already started investigations."

Silence spreads between the two men as Théodred tries to process the information. After a moment he looks back at his company and calls, "Éomer, Edgar."

Together Aldor and Théodred wait until the two other commanders have joined them.

"My lord?" Edgar asks when they have come to stand next to the heir and the captain.

"Pressing matters require my presence at Helm's Deep. We will ride there as quickly as possible with Aldor and his men. Edgar, choose a company of five. You will lead the wounded and Aldwine back to the Hornburg in a pace slow enough for their injuries."

"What about the black riders?" Éomer pipes in.

Instead of answering his cousin right away, Théodred turns to Aldor, explaining. "We met a group of shepherds a good three hours ago who saw the riders on their way to the west the night before yesterday. Lisswyn reported an unidentified sighting of something crossing the plains towards the west last night, presumably those riders. They may have crossed the Entwash here sometime within the last twenty-four hours. Did you see them?"

"No, my lord, we didn't. We arrived here yesterday morning. If they came this way it must have been before or they haven't crossed the river yet."

"They must be still in Eastemnet then," Théodred concludes.

"Do you want us to hold post here until they come?" Éomer offers.

"No, we don't know if what Lisswyn saw was really the black riders and besides, we couldn't stop them even if we wanted to."

"We are more than thirty men against a group of nine. Of course we could stop them."

"No, we can't, Éomer." Théodred's objects calmly, as if talking to a child.

The Marshal of Aldburg opens his mouth to protest, but Théodred interrupts him before he can speak. "Just trust me, cousin, we cannot stop them. They are no simple servants of Mordor, they are undead. No man can kill them."

For a moment Éomer and Edgar stare at him in disbelief.

"You think they are the Nine?" Aldor murmurs.

"Yes."

"We really should return to Helm's Deep as soon as possible, my lord."

"I know. Let's ride."

~ S ~

They travel long into the night and stop only for few hours at a crossroads' campsite, until a soft blue on the horizon in the East announces the coming of the next day. A similar short break is granted the next night at the Deeping Stream, only hours away from Helm's Deep and so the company arrives at the Hornburg during the morning hours on the second day.

In a fast canter the riders' horses enter the old mountain fortress. As soon as Théodred reaches the inner court, he pulls Brego to a stop and dismounts swiftly. A young stable boy is already reaching for the stallion's reins and the prince rushes inside with Aldor at his heels to meet with the Marshal of Helm's Deep in his study.

Without a greeting he enters the small room that overlooks the rolling hills of the Westfold to the west and the fields of Westemnet to the east. With a stern face, he walks past Erkenbrand to stand behind his desk.

"I am listening," is all he says.

Silently, Aldor closes the door behind him before Erkenbrand speaks, "You have a spy amongst your men, my lord. A minion of Gríma's."

"Aldor told me as much. How do you come to believe this?"

With his chin proudly raised, the Marshal hands the prince a rolled piece of parchment. "We received this six days ago, my lord."

As the prince reaches out for the scroll, he recognizes his own name on the outside above his father's seal.

"A letter to me from my father?" he asks, partly astound and partly in indignation over the fact that the Marshal obviously dared to break the seal.

"It was addressed to you at Aldburg, my lord. I didn't think much about it at first until Aldor told me the king is too weak to even hold a pen, not to mention writing a letter."

With a quick shift of his head the prince looks at the captain, who has come to stand next to the Marshal, and gives a soft nod in acquiescence.

Théodred's hard gaze flicks back to Erkenbrand and the Marshal continues, "Besides, why would the king know you were at Aldburg, my lord? I felt something with this letter was amiss, so I decided to open it. If you consider it treason, my lord, I will accept your punishment without contradiction. I only bid you to read it first."

Holding the Marshal's look with cold eyes, the prince unrolls the parchment.

_Friend,_

_Have my deepest gratitude for your latest information about the heir's and the spare's whereabouts and travel plans. Be prepared for an orc ambush on the shores of the Anduin._

_As always your loyalty will be rewarded with the greatest kindness and due payment by his lordship, Théoden king._

_Yavannië 7th - Gríma_

"It is a letter from my father's right hand?"

"Aye. Obviously he warns someone among the company you took on your ride to the east of an orc ambush-"

"We were ambushed at Sarn Gebir. One rider was killed, one is on the brink of dying, a couple more were severely wounded, including one of the shieldmaidens."

"I hope it is not lady Lisswyn?" Erkenbrand questions with a hint of anxiety in his voice and his eyes wide in concern.

"No, fortunately it is not her," the prince sighs, squeezing the bridge of his nose. The Marshal briefly closes his eyes with relief before he continues with his explanation.

"Aldor and I came to the conclusion that whoever Gríma was writing to must have informed him about your journey to the eastern border, and even more so informed him about your stay at Aldburg. Otherwise writing a letter to the king's city of old to warn his spy would not make any sense. We learned of your quick visit to Aldburg not before the eighth. Only then did your notice from the king's city of old arrive here at the Hornburg with the daily messenger."

"How did you come to possess this letter?"

"Since your company had already left Aldburg by the time it arrived there, the Count of Snowbourne decided to send it to the Hornburg, knowing you would return here sooner than there. Here is his writing that came with the letter."

Erkenbrand hands the heir another piece of parchment. With his left hand Théodred reaches out to take the second scroll while placing down the first on the desk in front of him with his right. He looks at the Marshall for a split moment before he unrolls the second message and starts to read.

_My lord Erkenbrand,_

_This letter from the king came with today's messenger. Hoping it holds only good news from Edoras I send it to Helm's Deep, because I believe the king's son will return to his new post rather than to the king's city of old. If my assumption is incorrect I trust you to deliver it further so that Théodred prince will receive it in due time._

_Yavannië 9th - Lord Dungar, Count of Snowbourn_

Having finished he rolls it back up, prompting Erkenbrand to speak again.

"He sent it together with a letter addressed to you personally, my lord." The Marshal hands forth a third scroll displaying the prince's name and still sealed with the Count's emblem.

Slowly, Théodred reaches for the parchment, with a stern face and a sharp line between his brows. Still thinking about what he learned so far, he breaks the seal with a sharp motion of his hands.

_My lord Théodred, heir of Rohan,_

_This letter from your father, our king, came with today's messenger. Hoping it holds only good news from Edoras I send it to Helm's Deep, because I believe you to return there rather than to the king's city of old. I hope it reaches you in due time._

_Notwithstanding the above, you have the words of Aldburg's nobles to follow your orders as the king's deputy from now on until you declare your father sound enough to rule over this realm again or ascend to the throne yourself._

_Yavannië 9th - Lord Dungar, Count of Snowbourn_

Sighing, Théodred looks up from the three letters lying on the desk in front of him now and into the sober faces of his second and his father's former second captain. Dark semi-circles under his eyes speak of the lack of sleep from the past three nights.

"Do we have any hints at who the spy might be?" his voice is calm and void of any emotions.

"No, my lord. It could be anyone, even..." Erkenbrand hesitates for a brief moment, "even the first shieldmaiden," he presses then hastily adds, "although I do not believe it to be her, my lord."

Wiping his face with his right hand, the prince sinks into his armchair. "Of course, it is not her," he snarls.

"We believe that whoever the traitor is, he or she may have been the reason why your provision patrols to Helm's Deep were revealed, my lord. They may have caused your banishment from Edoras," Aldor finally joins the conversation.

"That clearly rules Lisswyn out as a confidant of Gríma's. She was with me when our delivering patrol was apprehended. She was ripped from shieldmaiden duty and faced the threat of being given a dishonourable discharge. Only Háma could turn the verdict into an ultimatum for her to resign or be banished as well."

"As I said, my lord, we do not believe her to be the spy, but besides her…"

"I know it could be anyone."

"Not quite, my lord." Aldor speaks again. "Considering the fact that Gríma addressed his warning note to you, his spy must be amongst your closest riders, one of the few that usually picks up your correspondence from the daily messenger and brings it to you."

"My captains and their lieutenants-"

"Only the ones who were with you on this patrol," Erkenbrand pipes up.

Aldor adds, "Or perhaps someone they trust."

"That's only a handful of riders."

"We are trying to work out a scheme to find out who the traitor is, my lord," Aldor states.

A knock on the door suddenly interrupts their conversation.

"Who is it?" Théodred asks sharply, obviously annoyed from the disturbance.

"Lisswyn, my lord. One of the Marshal's patrols just returned with news about the black riders," she answers through the closed door, perfectly aware of the fact she is disturbing the three men.

With a quick knock of his chin, Rohan's heir orders Aldor to open the door for her.

"Come in, Lisswyn," Théodred calls from his desk as the captain follows his order.

With wide eyes, the first shieldmaiden looks at the three men before she enters the room, inclining her head to the Marshal.

"I apologise for disturbing, my lord, I deemed this information to be rather important," she starts to explain herself, when Théodred interrupts her gently.

"It is alright Lisswyn, please, call me by name in here."

Taken completely by surprise she looks up at him before her eyes flick over to Erkenbrand for a short moment. The Marshal smiles at her, as does her former teacher. Swallowing down the anxiousness over Théodred's plea, she nods her head in consent.

"I…," she starts, but words suddenly fail her as she realises the two commanders obviously know about the prince's wish for courtship.

"Your judgement was right, Lisswyn. It is important. What does the patrol have to say?"

"They saw seven black riders crossing the plains in the distance, heading towards the fords of Isen, yesterday evening."

"Where?"

"Where the Deeping Stream joins the Grey Stream on the borders to Westemnet, a day's ride from here. The patrol came back as quickly as possible through the dark of the night."

Sighing again, Théodred leans back in his chair. Closing his eyes he murmurs, "Inform her."

Erkenbrand delivers the news about the traitor to the first shieldmaiden in quick words. Turning back to face the king's son, Lisswyn's eyes show concern. "You cannot leave the safety of the Hornburg until we know who Gríma's minion is, my lord," she sounds agitated, before she quickly corrects herself with a low voice, "Théodred."

"I know," he looks up to meet her gaze. "Someone has to follow those riders, though, make sure they leave our lands." Shifting his eyes to Aldor he orders, "Send for Éomer."

Quickly, the old captain leaves the study to give the order to one of the guards in the hallway outside, and returns.

"You should consider your cousin a potential traitor as well, my lord," Erkenbrand warns, and Lisswyn instantly objects.

"Éomer would never do this." She turns to look at the prince again. "Théodred, you know him, you are like a brother to him…"

But Erkenbrand interrupts her, "Even brothers do not always pursue the same objective, my lady."

Anger rises within the woman, Théodred can tell by how she flares her nose and presses her lips together. Before she reacts, he quickly jumps in, "I agree with her, Erkenbrand. We can trust Éomer. If it was him, he wouldn't need to hide behind my name in his correspondence with Gríma. Besides, he was only on this patrol by coincidence. It is more plausible the spy truly is one of my own men."

The Marshal consents with a soft incline of his head.

Silence spreads in the study as the four wait for the Marshal of Aldburg to arrive. Théodred decides to use the moment for discussing another subject on his mind, "The autumn equinox is in a couple of days. I thought we should have a harvest feast here at the Hornburg." With a soft expression on his face he looks at Lisswyn. "What do you think?"

The first shieldmaiden looks at him, surprised. Feeling the eyes of Erkenbrand and Aldor on her she opens her mouth to ask why he wishes to hear her opinion about this matter. Before a sound leaves her throat, she recalls how he asked her to call him by his name just a few minutes ago. He already sees his future wife in her, she realises, and words fail her again.

The prince's eyes rest on her warmly and a patient smile graces his lips. He deserves an answer. All Lisswyn manages to bring out is, "Of course, it would be nice."

Théodred's smile widens reassuringly, and she timidly smiles back at him. His gaze shifts to the Marshal of Helm's Deep.

"Do we have enough food, wine and ale at the Deep for a feast for six éoreds?"

"I will have my kitchen and cellar masters check it today, my lord. If not we can purchase everything that is needed at Edoras and bring it here within four days."

"Good."

Lisswyn feels how the tension that built up in the room when she failed to answer him right away dissolves. A knock on the door announcing Éomer's arrival interrupts the conversation.

"Come in," Rohan's heir orders, before he sends another reassuring smile to the first shieldmaiden.

"You called for me, my lord?" The Marshal of Aldburg addresses his cousin with the proper respect.

"You know about the patrol that saw the black riders last night?"

"Aye."

"I think we can assume they are heading for the Gap of Rohan. I want you to put up a patrol of your own men and ride there. Guard the Gap until the riders arrive. Do not try to capture them, just make sure they leave our lands and do not return."

"Aye."

"Lisswyn, you and Wilrun will accompany him."

With Théodred's last words four pairs of eyes come to rest on his face questioningly, but only Lisswyn dares to speak this time. "If there is a spy here, shouldn't I stay at your side for protection?"

"No, my own men can do the task as they did before. Ride with Éomer. He is in the focus of Gríma as well and he will need every sword he can get out there in case he is ambushed again."

The information presented catches Éomer off guard. Clearly he is missing something. "May I know what you are talking about?" he looks at Théodred, irritation in his voice.

The heir's gaze shifts to Aldor and Erkenbrand. "Tell him," he orders, before he looks at the woman again. "Lisswyn," he calls her softly and with his head indicates he wishes her to join him in front of the study's window for a private talk.

"I made my intentions for you very clear among the company that was with us to the east," he murmurs so only she can hear him. "I don't know if what we learned today affects you, too. I urge you to be careful."

"Of course, I will."

He smiles at her before he continues; "As for the black riders; they are creatures of the dark, undead servants of Mordor. Do not attempt to confront them. You will not stand a chance, not even with five of our men against one of them."

"Aye."

Haltingly he leans forward and presses a soft kiss on her forehead.

From a few feet away, Éomer witnesses the small sign of affection while he listens to his former teacher. Biting down hard, he tries to suppress the burning and sickening sensation of jealousy spreading in his stomach. His face turns into a mask of indifference. Yet the look in his eyes does not pass unnoticed by Aldor and Erkenbrand.

When the captain has finished his report about Gríma's spy amongst Théodred's men, the prince and the first shieldmaiden step closer again.

Fighting hard to avoid looking at her, Éomer focuses on his cousin's face. "When do you want us to leave?"

"As soon as possible."

Éomer acknowledges with a sharp nod of his head before he turns towards Lisswyn. His face is blank like stone. "Two hours," are his only words. Unable to look at her any longer in this moment, the young prince spins around and hurriedly leaves the study without waiting for her reply or Théodred's dismissal.

His curt departure causes a moment of tense silence in the room. Lisswyn bites down and receives a soothing smile from her former teacher. Erkenbrand sends Théodred a stern look.

Eager to calm the situation, the prince places a comforting hand on the small of the shieldmaiden's back. "Be careful," he murmurs, once more looking at Lisswyn from the side. She turns towards him slightly and his eyes take in every feature of her face as she answers him with a soft smile and a short nod. He drops his head to signal her that she may leave to get ready for a hastened departure.

As she walks towards the study's door, Aldor joins her, and together they leave. Behind them the thick wooden door closes with a soft thud.

"If you do not mind me saying so, my lord, you are testing your fortune," Erkenbrand's deep, coarse voice disrupts the sudden silence.

"What are you talking about?" the prince turns towards the Marshal with puzzlement in his voice.

"The Marshal of Aldburg, my lord."

"Éomer? I thought we agreed he wouldn't betray me?"

"Perhaps not with Gríma, but…" Erkenbrand trails off.

"But?" Théodred presses him to go on.

"As I understood it you, wish to make Lady Lisswyn your bride."

"Yes, I do. I asked her for permission to court her only three nights ago."

"Then why send her out on patrol with him?"

Although he knows what his second in command means, he isn't going to allow him to get away with speaking in riddles. "What are you trying to tell me?"

"Certainly you noticed the looks the Marshal casts her and you and his reaction then stomping out of here?"

Yes, he is perfectly aware. He knows the reason behind Éomer's curt behaviour. Yet the repeated insinuations of his second are annoying. "Speak clearly, Erkenbrand," Théodred demands, determined to get this conversation done.

"Well, I dare say, Éomer is his father's son."

Théodred sighs with exasperation. Shaking his head he looks at the Marshal. "Éomer was not even born when that happened."

"It is still the same blood running through his veins."

"No, Erkenbrand. It is not blood that makes a man dishonourable, but upbringing," he accentuates his words with yet another shake of his head. "Éomer was raised by my father. He knows what honour demands. He gave me his word he will step back while I court Lisswyn. He would never act against me as his father did with you and break his word."

The prince's speech does not convince the offended heart of the old warrior. "If you say so…"

"Yes, I trust him, and you would do well to do the same. Overcome the grudge you hold against him for something his father did to you thirty years ago." Empathy is in Théodred's words now. He can fathom what it must have felt like to lose the love of one's life to a rival. He doesn't know how he would react if Éomer indeed followed in his father's footsteps and rivalled him over Lisswyn, successfully.

For a short moment doubt about his decision to send her out with his cousin spreads in his heart and his head, but is quickly replaced by a conviction that neither of them would ever betray him.

"Don't treat him like an enemy, Erkenbrand, for he is not."

"Aye, my lord."


	11. Torn

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Without further ado, here is the next chapter.
> 
> Special thanks to my amazing writing buddy VoxynQueen, my patient feedback partner jayjay0815 and last but not least my wonderful beta Scribe of the Fanciful. Check out their stories!
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**Torn**

_„I thought I saw a man brought to life_  
_He was warm, He came around like he was dignified_  
 _He showed me what it was to cry_  
 _You couldn't be that man that I adored_  
 _You don't seem to know, or seem to care what your heart is for_  
 _I don't know him anymore."_ (Natalie Imbruglia)

* * *

Silently Lisswyn watches the horizon to the east from her post underneath a tall pine tree in the middle of the fords of Isen. The river that comes as a steady stream from the rim of the Misty Mountains to the north has no river bed here. Instead it spreads out into a mile wide vale of shallow rivulets. Her post is in the middle of the pebble banks, a couple of rivulets in front of her, a couple behind her, softly gurgling and bickering. On the other side of the fords to the west is Rohan's border to the tree-covered lands of Dunland.

It is a chilly autumn night. The sky is covered with rainclouds again, hiding the stars and the moon. In the dim light the first shieldmaiden can barely make out the next post. Éomer's first lieutenant and old friend from training years, Hefric, is standing underneath another pine tree only four yards away to her left. His silhouette is only visible for her because she knows he is there. To her right she knows another one of Éomer's most trusted men and old fellow recruit, Torfrith.

They arrived at the fords of Isen a good hour before dusk. The company of forty riders split, one half setting up a camp about a mile away from the fords, hidden from view by a large copse. The other half took up posts along the fords.

For five hours Lisswyn, Éomer and the others have been standing watch now, but nothing moves besides some small nocturnal animals hunting for prey in the dark of night.

Suddenly the air starts to turn colder. An unnatural chill causes the hair on Lisswyn's arms and in her neck to rise.

A strange mist crawls over the small rolling hills in the east and moves towards them as if directed by a wizard's spell.

Lisswyn stiffens. Something is happening. Casting a quick side glance to where she knows Hefric to be, she notices he is on alert, too. A soft crack behind her almost makes her jump.

"Something is approaching," she hears Éomer whisper behind her back. Her heart racing from the short scare, she takes a deep breath and smells his familiar scent, warm and musky. His presence comforts her immediately. Smiling to herself, she gives a sole nod for an answer.

Suddenly the unnatural cold makes Lisswyn shiver. She feels her heart starting to race in her chest again. What is going on? During her training years she learned how to fight this upcoming feeling of panic, how to overcome a rush of adrenaline in her blood to keep her head clear and remain able to fight. She uses those tricks now, brings all her willpower together and tries to force it down to a degree she feels she will still be able to function. Yet somehow the feeling does not go away. Instead it grows into a notion she never had before; a bone-deep fear that clenches her heart, almost paralyzing her.

After a minute three riders appear in the mist, coming down the last slope to the fords of Isen. They wear long dark cloaks. Their heads are hidden underneath large hoods.

"The black riders," Éomer whispers again, and with his hand signals for Hefric to be prepared for an attack. The lieutenant nods and reaches for the hilt of his sword, but then halts.

Shortly after the first three riders have come down into the river's vale, another four appear on the crest, slowly making their way down as well.

"Seven," Éomer murmurs, and his voice sounds distressed. He must be fighting against this fear as well.

Suddenly a shrill shriek echoes through the vale. Lisswyn's ears hurt and she fights down the urge to cover them.

Her body grows stiff as she sees another two riders slowly making their way down to the brooks. Before they reach the first waterline the nine stop. A sensation of ice runs through her veins, spreading cold throughout her body, taking hold of the first shieldmaiden, freezing her. Her breath becomes shallow and fast. Every heartbeat is a throb in her neck. Her fingers tremble and her guts clench.

From the corner of her eyes Lisswyn notices how Éomer grabs for the hilt of his sword _Guthwine_ and slowly starts to pull the blade from its sheath as to avoid any sounds. She turns her head to look at him. Is he unfazed by the terrors and the sounds these dark creatures are creating?

No, his eyes show horror as well, yet somehow he is determined to confront them.

Remembering Théodred's warning, Lisswyn's hand dashes forward and grabs the Marshal's wrist, stopping him in his motion.

"Don't," she barely manages to whisper, shaking her head marginally.

Another shrill shriek underlines her warning. A croaky voice echoes through the vale, "Let us pass or die." Closing her eyes against the painful sound and the message it tells, she inhales deeply before she looks up to meet Éomer's gaze releasing his wrist.

Slowly the prince pushes _Guthwine_ back into its sheath. Then he and the shieldmaiden look back to the dark hooded figures in front of them.

The Ringwraiths start to ride into the waters of the first rivulet. Slowly they make their way through the fords towards them. When they are but six feet away from the two pine trees, one of the wraiths stops and turns his head towards the Marshal and the shieldmaiden.

There are no eyes underneath the hood, yet it feels as if the creature is stabbing her with his gaze, pinning her to the tree behind her. A hissing sound comes from underneath his hood. "Let us pass or we will be your death".

The fear threatens to crush Lisswyn's heart and she steps back against the tree's trunk for support on shaky legs. From the corner of her eyes she notices how Éomer bends forward as if in pain, clutching his fist in front of his breast plate as if struck by an arrow. His other hand holds onto the pine tree for support.

Another shriek sends Lisswyn down on her knees. This time, the sound is so loud and so piercing that she has no choice but to cover her ears.

As if following some secret signal the nine rush forward, their tall dark horses crossing the fords of Isen in a fast gallop. As they disappear into the woods on the other side of the border to Dunland, another shrill shriek echoes through the vale and across the pebble banks. The sounds of the galloping hoofs fade with the growing distance.

Bit by bit Lisswyn recovers from the terror and pain those creatures evoked in her. First she forces her breathing back to normal, her heartbeat becoming slower with it. She still feels the throbbing in her head, but it is with less pressure. Looking up she sees Hefric sitting hunched against his tree trunk staring into the distance. Right next to her Éomer gasps for air. He is on his knees as well. Slowly his head turns to face her and his eyes show anguish and desperation.

"What are they? How could they defeat us without even fighting?" the prince asks her, horror in his voice.

Lisswyn shakes her head. "I don't know."

Slowly they rise to their feet again with weak knees. Lisswyn's stomach is still churning from what she just experienced and she continues to feel every heartbeat in her chest.

Éomer signals for the others to gather. It takes five minutes until all twenty riders who have been on guard at the fords receive his order and come together. They all look just as the shieldmaiden feels: terrified and distraught.

Éomer, however, seems calm and confident again. "The black riders have just crossed the fords of Isen here," he tells the men with a strong voice. "We have to go back to camp, get the others moving, and follow them."

"No," Lisswyn blurts out her protest without thinking.

Éomer spins around, his eyes piercing her. "What?"

"This is not what Théodred ordered. We are not to confront them," she objects with forced calmness.

"You dare to contradict me?" he barks.

His anger hits her like a fist, yet she stands her ground. "We are only to make sure they do not return to our lands."

"Which we will by following them," the Marshal counters angrily.

"They are beyond our borders now, we have no authority over there," Lisswyn points at the dark woods of Dunland. "We should stay here."

"Taking your place as queen already? Last I looked, you were not commander of this patrol!"

"What?" Lisswyn's eyes widen with shock. Queen? She isn't... Théodred has just asked for her consent to courtship and she hasn't given it yet. Éomer cannot know about this. "What are you talking about? Théodred gave us clear orders!"

"Théodred is not here." He glares at her, his eyes full with anger and hatred. They are both yelling at each other now, not paying any attention to the riders around them.

"So you plan on disobeying his orders? You don't have the balls to stand up to him face to face, but you'll stab him in the back here! "

Éomer suddenly turns cold. "Watch your mouth, your highness," he hisses at her. "What is your purpose on this patrol? Are you my watchdog now? Making sure that I follow through your future husband's will without using my own head and judgment?" His voice cuts like a sharpened knife.

"If you were half the man Théodred is you wouldn't feel the need to make yourself a bigger man all the time!"

"At least I am of noble blood and not a grass-dwelling snake. I do not have to sleep my way into the house of Éorl!"

At his last words Lisswyn's eyes widen with incredulity. She feels the blood leaving her face, her heart racing in her chest again.

Slowly, Éomer raises his chin to look down his nose at her. "You are still under my command. Either follow my orders or return to the Hornburg in manacles," he dares her to contradict him further, giving him the right to put her in chains.

Slowly she backs down a small step and the prince spins around on his heels, storming off towards the camp a good mile away from where they are now.

~ S ~

Hollow. That's how the first shieldmaiden feels. Hollow and dull. Did this really just happen? Did they really fight like they had never done before? In front of everybody? And did her best friend really threaten to put her in manacles and send her back to Helm's Deep in dishonour?

Staring at the ground a few feet in front of her, Lisswyn tries to keep her breathing under control. Absentmindedly she hears heavy riders' boots crunching on the vale's pebbles. The others obviously start to follow Éomer back to camp. Yet she is unable to move.

The sounds of crunching pebbles become quieter; the gurgling of the water takes over again.

"Are you coming?" A soft voice pulls her out of her numbness.

She looks up and meets Hefric's eyes without really focusing on his features. Her old friend has stopped a couple of feet away from her and turned around. "Aye," she mumbles.

He nods and continues on his way back to camp.

Lisswyn takes a deep breath and straightens her back before she starts to follow him slowly. In the dark it will be a walk of around ten minutes. She should be at Éomer's side now, guarding him. But with eighteen riders around and after what just happened, she deliberately ignores her duty. The others will make sure nothing happens. She can't be at his side now. Not after he threatened to send her in prison.

She'd been faced with the same situation only three months ago.

 _She had been on patrol with Théodred to Helm's Deep._ _They accompanied a contingent of supply waggons with ale, grain, vegetables, meat and flour from Edoras to the Hornburg. In between the supplies renewed weapons and armour were hidden for Erkenbrand's riders. Three hours after they had left Edoras, their supply patrol was apprehended by a group of Gríma's men. The whole company and even Théodred and herself were taken prisoner and returned to Meduseld disarmed; allegedly by order of the king._

_Théodred was fuming with anger as Gríma's men shoved them in the great hall of Meduseld. The king was sitting on his throne, hunched forward, his eyes dull and grey, staring at the empty space in front of him. His so called right hand was exactly where he could be expected, at the king's right side._

_"I demand an explanation," Théodred growled at him as he was stopped five feet in front of the throne dais._

_"You are accused of insubordination, my lord," Gríma riled with a devious grin. "The king's orders were clear. No new supplies for the Hornburg armoury. You were caught smuggling out weapons and armour to secretly deliver them to Helm's Deep."_

_"Erkenbrand needs fresh weapons to keep the guard to the north up," Théodred argued back._

_"This is not upon you to decide," Gríma stated with ridicule._

_"Father?" the heir turned to the king. "I was protecting Rohan against a growing number of orcs attacking us from the north."_

_"You disobeyed orders," the king mumbled more to himself than in reply as if trying to make sense from his own words._

_Gríma, however, treated it like a valid answer and adds, "Your verdict will be decided in the next days, my lord. Until then you and your men are to remain in Edoras with limited access to the riders' facilities. For your personal safety two of my men will stand guard."_

_Théodred let out a puff of indignation and shook his head, clenching his teeth._

_Lisswyn had witnessed the whole scene with growing wrath. Biting her lower lip she forced her temper down. Suddenly Gríma raised his chin and grinning devilishly called over Théodred's head at his minions, "Throw the shieldmaiden into the gaol."_

_"No!" she heard Théodred bark at Gríma as she instantly switched into fighting mode, turning around and raising her arms ready to grapple with whoever dared to take hold of her._

_"Lisswyn," addressing her, the prince's voice turned soft. "Don't fight. Don't make it worse."_

_Bewildered, she looked over her shoulder at him. He shook his head and held out his hand in a soothing gesture. His face was calm, his eyes warm. He wasn't ordering her, but asking. She gave a sole nod for an answer turned back around and dropped her hands._

_Gríma's men jumped at her, painfully yanking her arms back to put her in manacles. A short cry of pain escaped her lips._

_"Easy," Théodred barked at the men and spun around to face Gríma gain. "What do you hold against her?"_

_"Treason," the king's right hand sneered with a menacing smile while Lisswyn felt the manacles being pulled tight around her wrists._

_"Treason?" Théodred repeated incredulously. "She followed my orders."_

_Strong arms dragged her backwards to the Golden Hall's two winged doors._

_"She is the commander of the shieldmaiden corps. The only one she is answerable to is the king and she acted against his orders," Gríma said with unveiled spitefulness. "That's treason."_

_"You cannot accuse her of a greater crime than you hold against me." Théodred's reproach was the last thing she heard before she was shoved outside Meduseld and pushed down the steps towards the cells behind the rider's barracks. Twice she stumbled and lost her footing, barely catching herself before falling because Gríma's men shoved her forward with more force than necessary. After yet another rough push she landed hard on her knees. Two strong hands grabbed her upper arms in vice-like grips hard enough to leave marks and pulled her to her feet again._

_"Don't make us carry you," one of the men growled at her._

_Only two minutes later the iron grille to her cell swung shut with a loud bang behind her. She was left in the dim light of the gaol that was partly underground. The wooden door to the entrance closed with a thud._

_At least they had taken off the manacles, Lisswyn thought, rubbing her wrists. Her anger started to fade making room for worry and concern to take over._

_What followed were long hours of waiting, wandering what would happen and listening to any sounds from the outside, but nothing really happened._

_After a couple of hours one of Gríma's men came into the gaol with a waterskin and a loaf of bread. "Don't eat all of it at once. You won't get anything else until tomorrow night," he declared and left again._

_Three days she sat in the pothole. Worry had turned into defeat, then distress and finally torpor. Then Aldor came. When she saw her old master she quickly sprung from the wooden plank bed; the only furniture in her cell besides a tin pot she used to relieve herself._

_"I'm sorry, Lisswyn," he said as a greeting and looked at her with sorrowful eyes._

_"What's happening?" she asked, her voice coarse._

_"Théodred is accused of refusal to obey an order. Gríma is aiming for the hardest possible punishment."_

_"What would that be?"_

_"Indefinite banishment from Edoras."_

_"And for me?"_

_"He hasn't backed down from treason yet," Aldor murmured, shaking his head in regret._

_Tears sprung to her eyes. "So I am facing a death sentence?"_

_"Théodred argues for you fiercely. And Gríma knows the prince has all the captains and riders here at Edoras behind him. He will give in eventually." Although her mentor tried to soothe her, his voice didn't sound as convincing as it was meant to._

_Lisswyn swallowed hard._

_"Your case won't be decided before the heir's, though."_

_She nodded, fighting down the tears._

_"Do you need anything?"_

_"Can you take care of Daeroch?" her voice was on the brink of breaking._

_"Of course, tomboy," Aldor tried to lighten the mood but she didn't react. "Anything else?"_

_Lisswyn simply shook her head._

_"I'll keep you informed."_

_When she didn't reply her old teacher went back to the entrance._

_"Aldor?" she called him and when he looked back at her, simply murmured, "Thank you, for everything."_

_Another six days went by and Lisswyn felt as if she would go crazy any moment. She must have paced her cell ten thousand times or more when Háma and Aldor visited her together._

_Quickly she came to stand at the iron bars of her prison._

_"Gríma has lowered the indictment against you to insubordination," Meduseld's doorkeeper told her with a tiny smile of comfort. Her knees gave in and she dropped to the ground starting to cry uncontrollably, washing all the built up tension out of her body._

_Swiftly, Aldor knelt in front of her and reached through the bars to stroke her head. For a long while they just sat like that. When the worst sobbing was over, Lisswyn looked up to meet his worried eyes._

_"What am I facing now?" she rasped._

_"Dishonourable discharge."_

_"And Théodred?"_

_"His verdict has not been decided yet."_

_She nodded and wiped her nose with her sleeve. "How's Daeroch?"_

_"Out on the horse enclosure flirting with the mares," Aldor smirked and Lisswyn couldn't help it and laughed._

_"Thank you."_

_"Éowyn asked if she can do anything."_

_Lisswyn frowned, insecurity in her voice, "Why doesn't she come herself?"_

_"Nobody is allowed to visit you but me and Háma."_

_The shieldmaiden nodded. Gríma seemed to fear her after all. That is why he wished her to be out of the way. By throwing her into a cell he tried to break her. She would not let this happen._

_"We will come back as soon as we can." Aldor and Háma gave her encouraging smiles and left._

_Two days later Théodred was accompanied into her gaol by Meduseld's doorkeeper in the middle of the night. "I can give you only a few minutes, my lord," Háma said in a regretful voice. When Théodred nodded his understanding he swiftly left them alone._

_Lisswyn stood up from her plank bed and stepped to her cell's door, waiting for the prince to speak. For a long moment he looked at her._

_"I am so sorry, Lisswyn," he murmured. "I should not have taken you on that patrol."_

_"It was my idea, my lord," she objected quietly._

_"Théodred," he reminded her once more and they both smiled timidly at each other._

_"I did everything I could to get you out of here, but my father won't listen to reason anymore." Théodred sighed shaking his head._

_"It's not your fault."_

_"I've been banished from Edoras today. I will leave with my éoreds the day after tomorrow and resettle to Helm's Deep."_

_Lowering her head, she simply nodded to show she understood._

_"The shieldmaiden corps has been terminated."_

_At this information her head snapped up again, her eyes wide with perplexity._

_"The shieldmaidens were given a choice to either resign or leave Edoras as well."_

_"How did they decide?"_

_"Wilrun and Merelis come with me to the Hornburg. Dargífu and Sorgifu are returning to Aldburg. Dargifu will guard Éomer, her sister resigned. So do all the others."_

_"Éowyn?"_

_"She does, too, so she can stay close to my father."_

_"I see." Lisswyn's shoulders sagged._ _They fell silent for a moment, and the woman had the feeling that the prince was studying her intensely. When Théodred spoke again, his voice was but a whisper. "Join me at the Hornburg as soon as you got your verdict and are set free again."_

_"To do what – become a kitchen maid?" She asked disbelieving and instantly regretted the disrespect she showed. Yet Théodred only looked at her with soft eyes and a half smile._

_"I can restore your status as first shieldmaiden limited to the regions of Westmarch and Westemnet when you are at Helm's Deep."_

_"I see," she murmured._

_The entrance door to the gaol opened slowly. "My lord?" Háma reminded them of their limited time._

_"Just another moment, Háma," Théodred told him calmly, turning his head towards the door before it closed again._

_"I could convince Gríma to drop his allegations of treason against you, but not more. I am sorry. Háma will plead your cause from now on."_

_Lisswyn simply nodded her consent. The prince looked at her again for a long moment, his eyes resting on her fondly. After a couple of seconds she started to wander what was going on. Probably a bad conscience, she dismissed the thought._

_"Come to the Hornburg," Théodred whispered again. "Please."_

_"Aye."_

_He reached through the bars of her cell and squeezed her shoulder gently, then gave her a small smile and left._

The sight of the tent she shares with Wilrun pulls Lisswyn out of her memory. With her thoughts caught up in this painful period of time, she had made her way back to the camp without noticing.

Swiftly she ducks her head through the entrance and crawls into the tent. Her friend is still asleep. "Wilrun," the first shieldmaiden gently shakes her awake. As the other women's eyes spring open she quickly tells her about the black riders. "Can you take over Éomer's guard now? I need to rest."

"Are you alright?" Wilrun unwraps her food ration and pulls out an apple and a rusk for breakfast.

"Not really…" Lisswyn trails off and swallows hard.

An expression of worry appears on Wilrun's face. "Were they so terrifying?" she asks, referring to the black riders.

Lisswyn takes a deep breath and hesitates, biting down hard. She could blame her state of distress on the fear the servants of Mordor evoked in her, but that would be an outright lie. After all the secrets and feelings she already shared with Wilrun on their journey to the east, keeping from her friend what happened between her and Éomer at the fords would be dishonest. Wilrun will probably hear about it soon enough from one of the riders who witnessed anyhow.

After another deep intake of breath she responds looking to the ground in front of her. "They were terrifying yes, but that's not it…" she trails off again.

"What is wrong?"

Lisswyn hears the worry in Wilrun's voice and forces herself to look at her friend before she admits in a low voice, "We fought, in front of everybody."

"We?" Wilrun leans forward, studying the first shieldmaiden's face with a frown.

"Éomer; he threatened to send me back to the Hornburg in manacles," Lisswyn hurriedly spills the story before she can change her mind.

Wilrun gapes at the confession. "Éomer?"

A sole nod is Lisswyn's only answer.

"How could he?" An angry line appears on Wilrun's forehead. "What has gotten into him?"

"Don't," Lisswyn bids her quietly. Wilrun meets her look with an angry line on her forehead, but Lisswyn quickly shakes her head. "Don't let him know I told you."

Wilrun lets out a frustrated breath through her nose before she consents. "Of course, not. Get some rest."

~ S ~

"I have to advise against that, my lord," Leofstan says calmly looking at Éomer.

"Why?" the Marshal demands with a frown. He had come storming into the camp only ten minutes ago, fuming with anger, and called for his captain. Leofstan was already awake and sitting by the campfire. Quickly he got up and walked over to meet his commander on the camp's edge and listened to his heated report about the black riders. Just now Éomer told him he wanted the patrol to be ready to follow within thirty minutes.

Unaware of what transpired between Éomer and the first shieldmaiden only a good twenty minutes ago, Leofstan brings forth his own objections to Éomer's plan, "Dunland is not only foreign territory, but foe's territory, my lord. We are only forty riders. If we are discovered we won't stand a chance. We shouldn't take this risk."

"We have to make sure these riders do not come back." Éomer's voice is still sharp but distinctly calmer than before. From the side of his eye the prince notices Wilrun coming to stand on guard a couple of feet away.

"We can do this by holding post here for a few days, my lord," Leofstan explains.

Éomer bites down hard, looking at the ground in front of him. His captain's arguments are reasonable. They also match those Lisswyn told him during their fight. Why did her objections make him so angry? The shieldmaiden had been yelling at him. But who had started the yelling? Was it really her, or did he react too heatedly at her first 'no'?

Still feeling the anger he felt during his argument with the shieldmaiden burning in his stomach, a second feeling starts to grow as well; regret.

Yes, the first shieldmaiden and he had fought before. But never like this. To make matters worse he said things only to hurt her, accusing her of speaking against him just because she was Théodred's intended. In front of his riders on top of it all.

He lets out a deep sigh before he looks at Leofstan again. "Put everyone up for guarding duties down at the fords. Five riders at a time," he orders quietly. "Two more to stand guard around the camp."

"Aye, my lord," Leofstan acknowledges. Éomer turns around to walk back to the campfire when the high-pitched screech of a giant bird calls for his attention. Tilting his head back he looks up into the dawning sky. A giant eagle flies above their camp, making his way from the north to the southeast.

"It looks like it is coming from Isengard, my lord," Leofstan tells him. "Maybe a minion of Saruman?"

Looking back at his captain, Éomer asks, "Do you think he saw us?"

"I'm sure he noticed the camp, my lord."

The Marshal and his captain look up into the sky once more following the eagle's flight across the peaks of the White Mountains until his silhouette disappears.

"Where do you think he flies now?"

"I don't know."

"He's heading in the direction of Edoras, my lord," Wilrun's voice comes from a few feet behind them. The shieldmaiden had followed the prince on his way to the campfire to keep up the guard.

All three share a worried look.

"What is happening?" the Marshal asks, more to himself than the others really, but Leofstan replies nonetheless.

"What do you mean, my lord?"

"The black riders we saw last night. Théodred said they are powerful servants from Mordor. They were roaming our lands for weeks before they left last night and threatened to kill us if we wouldn't let them pass. What was their business in Rohan?"

Éomer pauses, looking questioningly at his captain, but when Leofstand does not respond he continues. "Gríma is spying on Théodred and me. He obviously knew about an orc ambush on us in the east beforehand. Why? Who's minion is he?" The prince's voice sounds agitated and his arms are flailing now, but Leofstand simply shrugs his shoulders and shakes his head. He doesn't have an answer to this either.

"There are growing numbers of orcs ambushing Rohan here in the west. If Erkenbrand is correct, they are coming from Isengard. Saruman used to be our ally. Is he still? And why does he send an eagle out to Edoras?" Éomer's voice almost cracks now his eyes dart back and forth between Leofstand and Wilrun

They simply look at him, with plain distraught on their faces. Fear starts to nag on the prince. Is his sister still safe at Meduseld? For a split second the wish to rush to Edoras and look for her nearly takes over. Éomer opens his mouth to speak, but then recalls the orders Théodred gave him. Make sure the black riders do not return to Rohan.

Without a word he closes his mouth again.

Certainly Saruman did not send out a single eagle to attack Edoras. He probably is only an emissary. And even if he is a spy there is nothing he can do to prevent that. He has to trust in his cousin and his orders.

Éomer sighs, "It is as if Rohan is surrounded by enemies." He lowers his gaze to the ground, thinking.

"We can always count on Gondor, my lord." Leofstan tries to ease his commander's worries, convinced that the old alliance still stands.

Yet Éomer shakes his head. "I am not so sure about this anymore either."

"Why do you say so, my lord?" Wilrun questions now, too, and Éomer looks back up to meet their gazes.

"The steward's son; when he travelled through our lands a couple of weeks ago, he didn't come to see Théoden king. He was bound for Rivendell to seek advice from Lord Elrond as if he doesn't trust us anymore. And he travelled alone, like he didn't want to be discovered." Éomer explains.

Another deep silence spreads between them. Slowly, an idea forms in Éomer's head. Perhaps Théodred can send him to Minas Tirith as his emissary after this patrol to bind the old ties between Gondor and Rohan anew, make the strained alliance with Denethor strong again. On his way to Minas Tirith he can visit Edoras and his sister, look after his uncle.

With these thoughts on his mind Éomer turns around and proceeds on his way to the campfire, Leofstand and Wilrun following him silently.

~ S ~

The first rays of sunlight steal their way into his sleeping chamber in the old fortress of Helm's Deep. Théodred lies in his bed and stares at the dark wooden ceiling. He had too much ale last night and his head is spinning a little. Despite the two nights with almost no rest on their way back to the Hornburg, he couldn't find sleep. The worries for the safety of Rohan and over the black riders, the meaning behind their sudden appearance and most of all his worries over his father's health kept him awake long into the night. The ale was the only thing that helped ease his mind and make him sleepy enough to go to bed

His father's diminishing mind is probably Rohan's greatest threat at the moment, he thinks with a grim expression on his face. Not only did it lead to an increase of ambushes from orcs and Dunlendings and an ill-equipped Hornburg, it is the prime reason he ended up here indefinitely banished from his father's side. And nearly lead to Lisswyn's dishonourable discharge, not to think of the other possible fate…

He remembers how his heart had clenched when Gríma accused her of treason three months ago. How he feared his father's right hand would really push through the indictment and have her executed. The woman he loved and wished to make his bride. He was more worried for her than for himself back then.

Thinking about her, he realizes how much he wishes to have her at his side now. His strong arms wrapped around her small slender form. He feels arousal stir in his groins and lets out a frustrated sigh. This has to wait.

Desperate to think of something else he recalls the day of riding games his father held in honour of his thirtieth birthday during the midsummer festivities ten years ago.

_It was the first feast Éowyn was allowed to take part in after she turned twelve only few weeks earlier. Théodred loved the little girl just like a real sister. When he noticed how nervous and excited she felt about the dancing, but then was mostly ignored by all the men around due to her young age, he asked her for a dance. Éowyn thanked him with the biggest smile._

_After a couple of turns in the middle of the great hall, the young princess suddenly declared, "I wish I could be like her." Puzzled, Rohan's heir looked at her._

_"The young shieldmaiden novice who won the ring riding today," she elaborated with her innocent childish voice._

_"Lisswyn?" he asked her surprised._

_"Yes. I wish to become a shieldmaiden, too - beat the men in riding and then get a prize from the king."_

_Her answer amused him. "Do you know her at all?"_

_"No, but Éomer is friends with her," Éowyn shrugs her shoulders while the heir is still guiding her around the circle of dancers in the middle of Meduseld's great hall. "Sometimes he talks about her."_

_"Éomer?"_

_"Yes, he is dancing with her right now, look." Éowyn knocked her chin to a dancing couple a few feet away._

_To Théodred it looked like the young woman was ready to jump at Éomer's throat, but his cousin made a smug face._

_"Why don't you ask your brother to introduce the two of you? Perhaps you can become friends as well."_

_"You think so?" Éowyn beamed at him._

_"Sure. I'll walk you over when the song has ended."_

_Unfortunately it never came to that, because Lisswyn rushed away basically on the last tune leaving Éomer alone on the dance floor. Théodred had mocked his cousin for that, and secretly presumed Éomer liked Lisswyn more than he admitted._

Although his cousin fiercely denied it at the time, he does so no longer. His feelings for the first shieldmaiden are so obvious for everyone around. Théodred suddenly feels the urge to make a betrothal between him and Lisswyn public as soon as possible. The harvest feast may just be the right moment.

A smile creeps into his face. She will need something more elaborate to wear for this. An instant idea drives Théodred out of his bed and one floor down into his study.

~ S ~

As soon as Wilrun has left the tent, Lisswyn slumps down on her bedroll and closes her eyes. Only her mind won't let her find peace just yet. As the sun slowly ascends above the horizon, her thoughts go back to her time in the Edoras gaol again.

_A few days after her conversation with Théodred she was released from prison, but kept under strict watch by two of Gríma's men and forbidden to leave Edoras. The allegation of insubordination still stood, but Lisswyn was not once granted the possibility to defend herself. She trusted Háma to speak for her._

_Midsummer and Éomer's birthday passed, but nothing happened. There was no midsummer feast at Meduseld this year. The days dragged on. Lisswyn kept herself busy by training with Aldor's riders, tending to Daeroch and spending time with Éowyn._

_In the beginning of Cermië, Éomer came to visit. When they met at the guard's barracks his face was sober._

_He knew what happened of course, and what she was accused of, but he never asked her why she'd done it. He simply warned her to obey any orders strictly from now on and keep her temper at bay. After that they talked about her time in the cell. A couple of times he got furious over the way she had been treated, with only water and dry bread for almost a month. He took her, his friends from the training years, and Éowyn to one of the taverns in Edoras for a hearty supper as a belated birthday dinner. It was a peaceful evening with a lot of alcohol on the riders' side and a lot of laughing and jesting as well. Lisswyn chose to drink only water to stay focused and alert. Still, she felt relaxed. She even felt safe for the first time in weeks and despite the allegations against her, Éomer made her feel safe; his presence at her side soothed her._

_The day after Éomer and his men left for Aldburg again._

_By mid Cermië Éowyn told her about her suspicion concerning Gríma's nightly visits to her room. Lisswyn took care of it immediately, prompting Háma to hammer the hook into her door._

_As the days dragged on with no verdict in sight, Lisswyn started to feel caged at Edoras. Aldor noticed how her mood got worse with each passing day. In the beginning of Urimë he surprised her with the news that she was allowed to come along on one of his patrols to the south. Obviously Háma was a pretty good defender. Riding out with Daeroch again was pure bliss for Lisswyn. She didn't care that she was still unarmed, held no position within the patrol but was officially considered a civilian, and on top of that had two of Gríma's men at her heals the whole time. She was out on the plains again after two long months._

_When she returned from another patrol to the south again fourteen days later, Háma was already waiting for her and Aldor with devastating news. The captains at Edoras were forced to either swear allegiance to Gríma or were to be banished. Aldor, Háma and Gamling took counsel four times over the next four days. In the end they decided that Aldor would leave the capital and join Théodred. On the fourth day Háma came to fetch her on the training grounds and took her to Meduseld, too._

_Lisswyn was ready to accept her dishonourable discharge, but then Gríma surprised her. She was given the same choice her shieldmaidens had more than a month ago._

_"I take the banishment," Lisswyn told him right away with a calm and steady voice. She was given three days' time to leave. The next day she set off with Aldor's éored. Only one hour before leaving she was given back her weapons._

_Four hours later they met Éomer on their way to Helm's Deep somewhere in Westemnet. 'I missed you' he had said on that day._

But he hadn't meant it the way Lisswyn hoped. He didn't mean it the way her brother did when he told her he missed his wife when coming to the horse fair at Edoras. It had nothing to do with romantic feelings for her like Wilrun suggested. He missed her as a friend, maybe not even that. He probably just missed her out of habit. Because he had gotten used to her over the years.

She doesn't hold his heart like she had hoped at her family's campfire when he asked her whether she wouldn't want a family for herself. He doesn't feel for her what Théodred seems to feel. Théodred… the king's son wishes to make her his wife. She should be happy. Instead her heart aches. It aches because of Éomer. Hoping he'd ask her to consider him as his potential husband was the most foolish thing she had ever done in her whole life. The attraction she felt for him when she saw him naked after bathing in a sidearm of the Entwash; was not reciprocated. The feelings she has for him, they are unrequited. He simply does not see her this way. Even worse, he does not even see her as his friend anymore. Instead he threatened to throw her into the Hornburg's dungeons.

A tearing pain starts to spread in her chest; a wound growing bigger with every new thought.

A tear rolls down her cheek, hot and burning. Lisswyn fights the pain in her chest, but another tear rolls down her other cheek. Then a second. A feeling of being strangled takes hold of her throat. Breathing becomes hard. She feels like she is suffocating. Still, she fights the burning pain in her chest. Her eyes sting from the unshed tears she holds back. She swallows, but even that hurts now. Without noticing, she has stopped breathing as she tries to suppress all these emotions; as she tries to stuff them back inside of her where they will remain unnoticed. But she can't.

With a soft yelp she sucks in some air and before knowing it she turns around and cries into her bedroll, muffling the bawling sounds by tucking the woollen sheet into her mouth.

Her shoulders shake violently and the tears just stream from her eyes without control now. Everything inside and out of her is just pain. Unbearable pain. Because he doesn't see her the way she sees him.

Because he doesn't love her.

~ S ~

The heir has been sitting at the large oak desk for nearly two hours, reading reports on the patrols around the Hornburg during his absence to the east. He wrote a message to Háma, informing Meduseld's doorkeeper of the increase of orc ambushes to the Westmarch and about everything they found out in the east, even his suspicion about the origin and nature of the black riders. A moment ago he finished looking over a second letter, the one he had written first thing in the morning after coming here. Pleased with his wording, he smiles to himself and rolls the parchment. Still smiling he lets the molten wax drop on the parchment's edge before he presses his signet ring into it to seal the message. His cousin is the perfect person to fulfil this task.

An urgent knock to the study's door lets him look up.

"Come in."

Erkenbrand and Aldor enter the room together.

"We found this in the message box waiting for the daily messenger to be taken to Edoras." Aldor hands Théodred a rolled parchment.

"Another letter from the traitor?"

"Probably, it is addressed directly to Gríma."

"What does it say?"

"We haven't opened it yet, my lord," Aldor hands him the parchment and the prince breaks the seal quickly.

_My lord Gríma,_

_Théodred's company has returned safely from the Anduin to Helm's Deep. The heir is unharmed. So is Éomer prince._

_Deferentially yours_

_Yavannië 18th - A friend._

"No name."

"And no signet," Erkenbrand adds, pointing at the red wax circle that seals the message. "So it can be anyone, again."

"We can rule out the riders that are still on their way to the Hornburg with the wounded," Théodred points out.

"Which is good news. You can still trust your first captain and your corpsman," Aldor affirms.

"Yes. But my lieutenants and some of my closest riders are still suspects," Théodred comments, scratching his thumb along his upper lip, thinking. After a short moment he looks at the old training master. "Do we know who placed the letter into the message box?"

"No, my lord. It must have happened during the night. The riders I ordered to have a look at the box didn't see anyone approaching it yesterday."

A frustrated sigh escapes the heir's lips. "Whoever the spy is, he is careful."

"Yes, my lord."

"Aldor, order a handful of your men to constantly have an eye on the messenger's box. I want to know who puts something in it and when."

"Aye, my lord." Quickly the captain leaves the study again.

Erkenbrand remains. "I had our storages checked, my lord. We need a couple of supplies from Edoras, mostly vegetables, flour and ale for the harvest feast. Six waggons should suffice."

"Alright, we'll send a contingent to get it. The horse fair is starting in two days, perhaps they can buy something special from the merchants of the south, too." Théodred smiles conspiratorially. "White nougat and cinnamon."

Erkenbrand returns the smile, "I will put up a company." He starts to turn towards the door, when the prince calls him back.

"No, we wait until Edgar has returned with the wounded. I have a special task for him. Since he is the only one of my closest men I can truly trust at this point…"

"It will take four days for the waggons to get to Edoras and back, my lord," Erkenbrand demurs.

"It will still be enough time to prepare everything."

"When do you want to hold the feast?"

"When Lisswyn has returned. I want to use the feast-" The sudden sound of the Hornburg's horn outside interrupts their conversation.

"A company is arriving," Erkenbrand states the obvious.

Théodred rises to his feet and walks over to the window to look outside. A company of ten approaches the causeway towards the Hornburg's massive outer walls in a slow pace. One of the horses is rider-less. At the head of the small group Théodred notices Edgar. "Send for my first captain as soon as he has dismounted."

"Aye, my lord."

"And take my letters downstairs, I wish them to be delivered to Edoras today."

"Aye, my lord." Erkenbrand takes the rolled parchments with his strong hand and leaves the study.

~ S ~

"Messenger?" the rider calls hurrying across the outer court of the Hornburg.

The elderly man who is about to leave for Edoras with the day's messages turns his head.

"The Marshal of Helm's Deep gave me those parchments just a moment ago. Théodred prince wants them to be delivered as quickly as possible."

The messenger recognizes the rider as one of heir's closest men. Opening his saddlebag with one hand he reaches for the three rolled letters with the other, scanning the names on the rolls: Háma, Éowyn and Gríma.

With a distinct nod he tucks the rolls into the saddlebag where a couple of other messages addressed to citizens of Edoras are already waiting to be delivered. Mounting his horse, the messenger watches the small group of riders just arriving at the Hornburg enter the angled alley leading to the inner court. As soon as the last rider has passed he urges his own horse into a trot and leaves the old fortress to get to Meduseld before sundown.

~ S ~

"You called for me, my lord." Edgar enters the Hornburg's study, still looking travel worn and a little tired.

The prince is still standing in front of one of the windows looking out on the plains. Slowly he turns around now. "Give me your report."

"We had an unspectacular return to Helm's Deep, my lord. Only met farmers and merchants on our way. We had to stop earlier for the night yesterday though, because Fastred's conditions wouldn't allow moving on. He passed on to our forefather's halls during the night," Edgar declares with a low voice.

"I am sorry to hear that," Théodred sighs and steps forward to his desk. "We need to bring the provisions for his family on the way. Do you know where they live?"

"In a small village in Westemnet, my lord. His wife and children live with his brother."

Another letter he will have to write today, Théodred thinks grimly, lowering his eyes to the desk where the message for Gríma still lies. The parchment has rolled itself up again, nothing of the message can be read. Edgar needs to know, Théodred decides, before he looks at his captain again.

"We have a spy of Gríma's among my men, Edgar."

At his captain's alarmed look, the heir elaborates, "We have proof of it. I know it is not you, but unfortunately I can't say the same about Folcred and Éofor. Who else did you give orders to collect my daily messages?"

"Grimmund, Fastwine and Wigbald, my lord."

"They were all with us to the east?"

"Only Wigbald and Fastwine, my lord."

"Four…" the heir murmurs chewing on his lower lip.

"I want you to lead a contingent of riders with six supply wagons to Edoras tomorrow morning. We need to purchase a couple of supplies at the horse fair for a harvest feast here at the Hornburg," he tells his captain matter-of-factly. "There are also a couple of personal purchases I wish you to make for me. And the lady Éowyn will give you something to deliver to me as well. I trust you to keep this… private, Edgar. Nobody must know about this…," he hesitates for a moment thinking of the right words, "…delivery yet. Do you understand?"

"Of course, my lord." Edgar nods sharply.

"I need you to be back with everything as soon as possible. And don't take Folcred, Éofor, Wigbald or Fastwine with you."

"Aye, my lord."

~ S ~

For the fifth time in two minutes Éomer glances over at the shieldmaiden's tent. Lisswyn disappeared in it right after they came back from the fords of Isen still in the dark of the early morning hours. A few minutes later Wilrun came crawling outside, obviously taking over the duty of guarding him. That was three hours ago. In the meantime the sun has come up chasing away the autumn mists.

Éomer lowers his gaze again and pulls a piece of bread from the loaf in his hand and pops it into his mouth. Chewing, he looks up again, not at the tent this time but straight ahead. He watches Wilrun leaning against a tree's trunk a yard away, cleaning her fingernails with a knife. Her expression has been neutral the whole time but the Marshal cannot shake away the feeling that her eyes bore into him every time he doesn't look. Slowly he raises his waterskin to his mouth and takes a sip. Unconsciously he turns his head and casts another glance towards the women's tent.

"You should tell her how you feel about her," his best friend's voice startles him. Éomer turns his head just far enough to see Hefric standing behind his right shoulder.

"What do you mean?"

"Lisswyn. You should tell her you love her," Hefric steps over the log and takes off his sword belt.

Hastily, Éomer shoots a look in the direction of Wilrun. The shieldmaiden has retreated more than a yard, beyond earshot. Letting out a sigh of relief, Éomer grumbles, "I don't."

"Of course not," Hefric scoffs sitting down next to him. Knocking his head towards the shieldmaidens' tent he asks, "Then why do you look over at her tent every ten seconds?"

"I don't."

Hefric shakes his head, an amused smirk on his face, and puts down his sword on the ground. Together the prince and the rider sit for a moment in silence. Éomer tears another two pieces of bread from the loaf and offers one to his friend. Together they each take a bite. Éomer's head turns towards the shieldmaidens' tent once more.

"You do it again…" Hefric states dryly and Éomer lets out a puff, dropping his head.

"I regret the words that passed between us." His voice is so low Hefric barely understands him. Another moment of silence passes between them.

"And why did you yell at her like that?" Hefric's voice is calm and sympathetic, but the question stirs Éomer's temper nonetheless.

"She disobeyed my orders and dared to contradict me openly," he spits, turning towards his friend, his eyes glaring.

Hefric knows better than to react to it. Slowly turning his head to look at the prince, he tells him calmly, "She reminded you of the orders you were given."

"She called me ball-less in front of my riders."

Hefric grunts in amusement. "Aye, well, women are fairly good at stabbing us where it hurts the most. My wife once said she should have married my horse instead of me, because it is less klutzy and lazy than I am."

Éomer, however, does not share his friend's amusement. "I am afraid I cannot laugh about Lisswyn calling me less than a man."

"She was agitated, like we all were after our encounter with the black riders", Hefric retorts as if chiding a child. "And you weren't really a gentleman either. You called her a wench."

"I didn't."

Hefric pulls up one of his brows and with mocking mirth states, "A grass-dwelling snake that sleeps herself into the house of Éorl?"

Éomer flinches at hearing his own words. Having insulted her like this stings, but his pride is still hurt. "She should have controlled her temper."

Hefric raises an eyebrow. "Like you controlled yours?" Another smirk plays at the rider's lips.

Éomer drops his head and draws in a deep breath. It takes a couple of seconds for him to calm down. When he has, his voice is a mere whisper once more. "I know I overreacted. But I cannot take it back."

"Then tell her how you feel."

Éomer remains silent.

"You know," Hefric starts after a while. "You look exactly like I felt years ago after she told me that kissing me was a mistake. I was crushed and so are you now. 'Tell her or else you'll always wonder what could have been.' Those were your exact words back then…"

"Because I was sick of watching you pussyfoot around with her," Éomer interrupts him quickly.

"I was head over feet for her and scared she would rebuff me," Hefric continues calmly. "Which she did in the end, but you were right. Had I not tried to…," searching for the right words he looks around until his eyes come to rest on Lisswyn's tent, "…at least find out if my feelings were reciprocated I would still be wondering what might have been." Turning his head sharply to look at Éomer, he finishes, "You should do the same now."

"I already know what she feels for me," Éomer mumbles defeated.

"Which is?"

"She sees me as a brother."

"She said that?"

Yet Éomer does not answer his question. Instead he recalls the night when they had been at the tavern in Edoras six years ago.

_He was flirting with one of the town's girls, stealing kisses and touches to her breast and behind while Hefric was sitting at a table nearby with Lisswyn trying to get her attention. The next thing Éomer remembers is seeing his two best friends kissing._

"You know, I was really surprised when I saw the two of you kissing back then," the prince says softly. "I thought 'finally', but I was rather occupied myself, so I didn't notice how you left the tavern. When I realized you were missing I thought you had retreated for more privacy and maybe talked about the courtship, but then the next morning at breakfast you were sitting on opposite ends of the table, not talking, not even looking at each other. I knew something must have gone awfully wrong. So I asked her out on the training fields an hour later."

Hefric nods at the old memory. His affection for Lisswyn has long past turned into a deep and caring friendship. His curiosity is peaked nonetheless. "What did she say?"

"That she regretted kissing you. Not because the kissing was bad but because she had done it with the wrong intentions." Éomer pauses for a moment, trying to decide if what he is going to say will hurt his friend. Looking at Hefric, he realizes that he will be fine and turns to look at the shieldmaidens' tent again, continuing, "She kissed you because she knew you pursued her. She knew already that she didn't want you to court her, she knew kissing you would give you the wrong impression but she was curious. She wanted to know what kissing felt like."

Hefric puffs and Éomer quickly turns his head to look at Hefric again.

"She said some very painful things back then," the rider recalls, sounding bitter.

"I know and she was really sorry about having hurt you. She didn't want to hurt you more so she bade me talk you out of asking her for a courtship."

"Which you did."

"Aye."

Hefric lets out a deep breath to let the unpleasant feelings go away. Taking on a light tone once more, he remarks. "So I assume she told you in a similar painful fashion that you are like a brother to her?"

Éomer chuckles quietly. "No, she didn't say it in a way that was supposed to hurt me, but it felt like a punch to the stomach nonetheless."

"What did she say?" Hefric presses.

"I asked her why she chose you and not me to find out what kissing feels like. She laughed at me for that, so I said 'hey, I'm a good kisser.' She countered, 'I bet you are with all the experience you have, but kissing you would have been like kissing my brother.'"

"What?" Hefric blurts out half laughing.

"Aye." Éomer remains sober.

Still chuckling, Hefric presses on, "She said it back then?"

"Aye."

At the Marshal's flat reply Hefric starts to laugh again. "Honestly, Éomer. This lies six years in the past. A lot of things can change in six years. Look at me for example. I was devastated after you told me to not pursue her further. Now I am happily married. I have a beautiful wife, a daughter and the second child is on its way. And for you, I dare say, a lot of things changed, too."

"Not this," Éomer mumbles, leaning forward and resting his forearms on his legs, his head hanging down in defeat.

"What makes you so certain? Because, frankly: You have changed. Back then she was just your tomboy. And now? You love her."

"Is it that obvious?" The prince's head turns slightly to the side to look at his closest friend from the corner of his eye.

"I dare say yes. At least to your friends it is. You should tell her."

Éomer shakes his head. "I can't."

"Why not?"

The prince straightens up again and raises his chin in an effort to win back his composure. "I gave Théodred my word not to interfere in his courtship." The tone of his voice is sharp.

"So it's honour that keeps you silent?" Hefric asks disbelieving.

"Yes. That's all I have-"

"What about honesty? Instead of telling her you feel terrible you degrade her, even threaten her to send her back to Théodred as a prisoner. I don't think that's any better. Besides, if you don't tell her, you'll always wonder what could have been."

Briskly Éomer stands up, signalling the conversation is over.

Hefric does not let it deter him. "Your words!" he reminds him firmly looking up at the Marshal's back.

"I trust you to keep this in between you and me," Éomer states flatly then starts to walk away. He needs to think. And sleep.

~ S ~

The long pale fingers fold the small piece of parchment neatly, once, twice, thrice. They wrap a small cord around the parchment and swiftly tie the cord to the large crow's foot.

"Beware the eagle," Gríma whispers into the crow's ear, before he silently opens the shutters to the window in his Meduseld sleeping room. The crow hops over to the windowsill and pokes his head outside.

"Orthanc, hurry!" Gríma tells the bird, and with a powerful stroke of his wings the black bird takes off from the opened window towards the north.

With a devilish smile, the king's advisor watches his messenger flying to the north. The dark of night will give him cover. When the bird's silhouette is lost against the black sky, Gríma turns around and picks up the rolled parchment he received earlier this evening from the daily messenger from Helm's Deep.

He unrolls it slowly to read the message once more.

_My lord Gríma,_

_Théodred prince has sent the Third Marshal of the Riddermark to the fords of Isen. As word has reached me it is to ensure that the black riders we were looking for in Eastemnet leave our lands and do not return._

_Éomer prince took a patrol of forty riders and two of the shieldmaidens with him. One of them is the first shieldmaiden, who also seems to be the heir's intended bride._

_The company will probably stay for a few days at the fords before returning to the Hornburg._

_Théodred himself is at this point still at Helm's Deep._

_Deferentially yours_

_Yavannië 19th - A friend._

A wide diabolic grin spreads across Gríma's face. If Saruman acts quickly this patrol will be the perfect opportunity to get rid of the younger prince and the first shieldmaiden.

If Lisswyn indeed is what his source states, her death will be a successful blow to Théodred's strength, too. No wonder the king's son fought so fiercely to get her free again three months ago. A low snarl escapes Gríma's mouth. He should have kept up the allegations of treason against Lisswyn and have her beheaded when he had the opportunity. But then, Théodred would have directed all his efforts into removing him from the king's side. Finding death while doing her duty as shieldmaiden however, is such an unfortunate ill-luck…

Chuckling quietly, Gríma casts the parchment into the fireplace of his room. Watching it burn to ashes, he nods his head. If his leaker only knew what his innocent information is used for…

* * *

**I am already working on the next chapter but unfortunately my schedule is still busy, so it may take a bit... please, stay with me!**


	12. Leave out all the rest

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everybody,
> 
> I'm really sorry this chapter took so long. My life has been incredibly chaotic these past eight weeks and I admit: I had a hard time writing this chatper, too. It is fairly different from the ones before, and more of a filler chapter leading up to things that will come in the next, but see for yourself.
> 
> Special thanks to my amazing writing buddy VoxynQueen - who happened to be a good friend and advisor over tha last couple of days, too. Thanks for that mate - my patient feedback partner jayjay0815 and last but not least my wonderful beta Scribe of the Fanciful. Check out their stories!
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

 

**Leave out all the rest**

_„_ _I'm strong on the surface, not all the way through  
I've never been perfect but neither have you  
So, if you're asking me, I want you to know  
When my time comes, forget the wrong that I've done_ _."_ (Linkin Park)

* * *

With a swish, the yurt's outer skin shifts into place as the man pulls the straps tight around the last pole and into a knot. It is almost evening now, with the sun shining low over the peaks of the White Mountains in the southeast of Edoras. When his sons are done spreading out hay for the horses in their small travel corral they can finish setting up their bedrolls inside the yurt.

"Master Cenric?" a male voice pulls Lisswyn's father out of his musing. Turning his head to the side, he recognizes one of the riders who stayed at his winter camp with Rohan's heir only few days ago.

"Yes?" he asks back. As the rider steps forward he recognizes him as one of the four who stayed longer with Théodred and Lisswyn.

"I'm Edgar, Marshal Théodred's first captain, Master Cenric." With a short nod of his head the captain greets Lisswyn's father.

Edgar arrived at Edoras earlier that day after a whole day of travelling with the contingent of six supply wagons from Helm's Deep yesterday and a nightly stop at a smaller village in Westemnet. As soon as he came to Edoras he started making the purchases Théodred had ordered him, the last being three goats, hopefully all of them pregnant.

"An honour to meet you again, captain" the seasoned horse breeder replies. "How can I be of service?"

Gesturing behind himself at the cart filled with vegetables, grain, flour and hay and the three goats Edgar answers, "Théodred prince bade me to come and pay his depth."

Cenric looks past the rider and then straight into his eyes again. "We offered your company a pumpkin soup and a roasted goat. This is far more than what we spent."

"My orders were very precise. Théodred prince told me to purchase nothing less. He bids you consider it a sign of gratitude, Master Cenric."

"Is he paying for Lisswyn's services now?" the horse breeder's younger son suddenly spits from the other side of the corral's fence.

"Hold your mouth, Déor," Cenric hisses back at him "I won't take any more insults to your sister's honour without punishment."

At his father's threat the young horse breeder puffs and then pushes himself off the corral's fence to go back to his task of feeding the yearlings.

"I am sorry, captain. Please disregard my son's words…"

"I am certain the heir will not be pleased to hear how his intended's relatives speak about her, Master Cenric," Edgar replies warningly.

"I will gavel my youngest accordingly, captain. There is no need for the prince to know."

They stare at each other for a long moment. "I cannot betray my loyalty, Master Cenric."

"Of course not. Please, let the king's son know that no one in this family agrees with my youngest's view."

"I will."

"Thank you, captain. And, please, deliver my thanks and gratitude to the heir for his generosity."

~ S ~

She needs to apologize. Lisswyn knows it but the thought of confronting Éomer makes her nervous.

Standing on a high cliff above their camp, she bites her lower lip, looking out over the vale of the fords of Isen. She is not on guard duty at this moment. She had come to this spot two hours previously to be at peace for a while. Her coat and hair is damp from a soft drizzle which stopped only minutes ago. The sky is still covered with grey clouds that hide the morning sun to the east.

Wilrun had given her time and space to herself the previous day after the fight with Éomer. Lisswyn spent the whole day in their tent, crying at first, but when all her tears were spent she fell into a deep, exhausted sleep. She didn't even wake up when Wilrun returned to their tent after Éomer had gone to take a rest as well during the day. When the prince was up again in the evening, Wilrun took up Lisswyn's guard duty without a question, once more leaving Lisswyn in the solitude of their tent only to return three hours later again, when Éomer decided to go to sleep for the night.

When the first shieldmaiden got up this morning, shortly before sunrise, on their second day at the fords of Isen, she still felt exhausted and strangely numb.

The memory of the words she and the prince had thrown at each other in anger is still fresh in her mind. The grass-dwelling snake was bad enough, but when he accused her of sleeping her way into the house of Éorl something inside her shattered. The idea Éomer might really think her capable of something like this, truly believing she shares Théodred's bed only to become princess is so painful it brings back tears immediately.

Wiping her eyes with her hand, she takes a couple of calming breaths. She hadn't been innocent in her verbal attacks either. She called him ball-less and only half a man. Of course, she didn't mean it the way she said it. She was only slashing out in her own hurt trying to hurt him just as much. Still, this can never be a valid reason for saying such things and of course there is no way it can be forgiven. On the contrary, insulting a superior commander in such a way will have consequences. She is prepared and willing to accept whatever penitence he will bequeath on her.

If only she knew how it had come this far. What happened that changed their ways so dramatically?

Staring at the landscape in front of her without focussing, Lisswyn tries to recall every interaction between her and Éomer from the moment they met out in Westemnet on their way to Helm's Deep almost three weeks ago.

After a minute or two of contemplating, her head snaps up with realisation. The mouth of the Entwash! She watched him emerge from the river, trailed his naked body with her eyes instead of turning around immediately and giving him the privacy a superior commander has the right to. She didn't even avert her eyes after he caught her watching him. To him her behaviour must have been outrageous. Worse, she didn't even apologize for it until today. She wanted to at Amon Hen, but their conversation never reached that point.

The whole situation is solely her fault. She failed him, she failed their friendship. Their fight at the fords was her fault and it most certainly ended their friendship, or whatever little of it had still existed two days ago, for good. There is no way things can be normal again between them after what happened and especially after what she said. She clearly crossed a line twice. The realisation of this sends a piercing pain to Lisswyn's heart and causes a new wave of tears welling up in her eyes.

She needs to apologize, for the incident at the Entwash and for her words. Her duty requires it just as much as her heart wants it, even if it will not mend their broken friendship. But how? With Éomer no longer her friend she has no idea how to say sorry.

Maybe sticking strictly to protocol is the best option to start with. Calling him by his title, only. Speaking her apology firmly and with determination. No rambling, no attempts to receive forgiveness, certainly no hoping to meet understanding. Just a quick and firm apology, then accept the punishment with her head held high. No flinching, no matter what he tells her, then move on.

Hardening herself for the unpleasant task, Lisswyn turns around and heads back to camp. She cannot let her personal feelings interfere with her duties. She cannot let them weaken her resolve.

~ S ~

"Turn around, please, my lady."

The wide velvet skirt fans out as Éowyn quickly spins on her toes. This dress is just perfect. It is a dark red, just as Théodred requested, with silver cords sewn to the fabric to be wrapped around the upper arms in traditional Rohirric fashion. It has only minimal silver embroidery along the neckline and at the end of the trumpet sleeves, but a very prominent belt made from round silver links, each one designed like an endless knot. The Rohirric symbol of never-ending devotion, love…

"Are you sure you want it straightened around the chest, my lady? It might turn out a bit tight," the seamstress asks the princess politely, trying hard to make her doubt not too obvious. Of course, she assumes Éowyn purchases the dress for herself. Éowyn cannot tell her that it is meant for another woman. Théodred had been very distinct in his letter to keep it secret for the time being.

Smiling at the thought, Éowyn replies, "Yes, I am absolutely positive." Oh, how she wishes she could see the dress on Lisswyn and Théodred's reaction to it. Imagining her best friend wearing it causes the young princess to grin gleefully.

The sound of the tailorshop's door pulls the princess out of her happy musings. Two women enter the shop, the Countess of Snowbourn and her daughter.

"Engifu," the seamstress calls to the shop's back before she turns to the two new customers. "My daughter will be right with you, my ladies," she tells them then puts another needle into the side of the red dress.

"Lady Éowyn," the older woman greets with a polite incline of her head, while the younger at her side sweeps a curtsey.

"Lady Ides, Lady Olfete, what a surprise to see you here at Edoras," Éowyn greets them back with a courteous smile. Of course, she knows the Countess of Snowbourn although she cannot say she likes her very much. It bothered her that this woman and her daughter had always seemed overly ambitious.

"We came for the horse fair, my lady. My husband wishes to purchase a new horse. Olfete and I decided to come along in hope of a feast at the end of the fair. Do you think the king will hold one this year?"

The Countess apparently still hopes for a union between the heir and her daughter, Éowyn muses. Too late. She suppresses a devilish grin and instead replies heavy-heartedly, "I don't know, to be honest. His health is not the best as of late, lady Ides."

From the corner of her eye Éowyn notices the seamstress' daughter stepping closer, but politely waiting for the ladies to finish their conversation.

"You seem to assume there will be a feast however," the older woman points out with an obvious look at the dress Éowyn is wearing. "A very good choice, my lady. The colour becomes you splendidly."

"Well, thank you, lady Ides." If the old biddy knew… "But to raise hopes for a harvest feast at Meduseld with the king and the heir in attendance would not be appropriate. This dress is purchased solely on a whim."

Thankfully Éowyn's words seem to have the disheartening affect they were meant to have. After greeting Éowyn again with a polite nod of her head, the Countess of Snowbourn finally turns to face the young seamstress waiting for her.

"How can I be of service, my lady?" the girl asks and upon being told that the Countess and her daughter wish to look through the newest court dresses leads them over to a clothes rail a few feet away.

Satisfied with being rid of them, Éowyn turns around to face herself in a large floor-length mirror. Trying to picture Lisswyn's face instead of her own wearing this dress, she almost jumps with a start, when Olfete's voice suddenly murmurs in her back.

"Is your brother, I mean, our Marshal here for the horse fair as well?"

Turning around with a beating heart, Éowyn musters the young noble in front of her. Her brother? She never heard Éomer talk about Olfete, but there is no mistaking that the other woman has an obvious interest in him. Intrigued, Éowyn chooses to answer cautiously.

"He hasn't arrived yet, but I hope he will come one of these days. After all, the horse breeders just came in and have started to assemble their yurts and huts, lady Olfete."

"We haven't seen much of him at Aldburg these past three weeks," the younger woman continues with a sugared voice and ignoring the pointed look her mother sends her in an attempt to silence her, "the last time he was there was with Théodred and he seemed to be rather concerned with something. I wish I had the chance to lighten his mood a bit, we do get along very well, don't you know?."

"Oh? Well, I'd say you are rather lucky then," Éowyn tries to end the conversation. "Sadly, I haven't seen Éomer in two months, Olfete."

"How unfortunate", the young noble draws out the last word with exaggeration. "His company is usually so enjoyable. Do you think he will be pleased to meet me here?"

Unsure how to respond, Éowyn's eyes dart over to the seamstress' daughter for help.

"White and green are favoured this year" the young woman politely interrupts the conversation now, holding up a dress that combines the two colours.

The Countess of Snowbourn thankfully takes the opportunity to end the thoughtless chatter of her daughter. "Oh Olfete, these colours are just perfect for you. They suit you exceptionally, and look at this design." With a firm grip to her daughter's upper arm she pulls Olfete away from Éowyn.

The princess lets out a breath of relief. The other young woman prying about Éomer felt incredibly intrusive.

Mistaking the sigh to be directed at her, the seamstress quietly tells Éowyn, "I am almost done, my lady. I will start on the alternations right away. The dress will be ready to be picked up tomorrow morning."

"Oh, it was not you who caused my impatience," Éowyn quickly calms her. "I will come and retrieve it personally tomorrow, then."

Only moments after the princess has changed back into her own dress and stepped outside the dressmaker's shop a grey-clad figure rushes past her. The face hidden underneath a wide hood and a long convoluted walking stick in one hand, the figure angrily mumbles under his own breath as he storms past the king's niece.

~ S ~

Coming back down from her high cliff above the vale, Lisswyn finds the camp slowly waking up. Someone must have added new logs to the camp fire. When she left for her look out earlier it had been but a low glowing fire. Now the flames reach up to the cooking pot hanging above the fire's centre.

Tentatively strolling closer, the first shieldmaiden recognizes the man sitting by the fire as one of her friends, Torfrith.

"Good morning," she greets him with a small smile, wondering if his reaction would show what he thinks about her fight with Éomer.

The rider looks up with an open smile. "Good morning, Lisswyn." His expression holds no reserve, which eases the shieldmaiden's tension a little.

"Can I have some of the hot water?" Lisswyn knocks her head at the pot and reaches for the wooden mug that is tied to a belt around her tunic with a small leather band.

Pulling the remains of his loaf of bread and an apple from his ration pack, Torfrith prepares for his morning meal. "Yes, of course."

"Thanks." Lisswyn scoops her mug full and adds some of the dried herbs she carries around in a soft leather pouch attached to her belt as well. As she throws the herbs into her mug for her morning tea, Hefric and Dunsing approach the fire. Feeling her anxiousness return, the shieldmaiden stiffens.

"Good morning," she greets the riders timidly

"Good morning, Lisswyn," Hefric mumbles, rubbing his face. "How can you be so wide awake this early?" he asks, before yawning widely. Shaking his head in amusement Dunsig looks at her with his usual crooked smile before the two riders sit down on a large sitting log near the fire. Nothing in the way they react hints at any guardedness towards her. Dunsig has always been rather taciturn; Hefric has never been a morning person. Their postures and expressions are open.

Still, the first shieldmaiden feels like an intruder to the group of Éomer's friends. Lowering her head she turns around ready to leave again when Torfrith claps on the log next to him. "Sit down."

She stops in her tracks and takes an unsure glance around. Hefric and Dunsig smile at her. Torfrith bites into his apple. Inhaling, Lisswyn lowers herself onto the log.

For a while they sit together devoting themselves to their breakfast.

"How much longer do you think we will stay here?" Hefric suddenly asks in between bites from his hard bread, not directing his question at anyone in particular.

"A week maybe," Dunsig offers with a shrug.

Apparently Éomer hasn't made up his mind about this or if he has he hasn't let his friends in on his decision. It's this thought that makes Lisswyn realise the Marshal is not up yet. She came back from the cliff with the clear intention to speak her apologies. She expected him to be up and somewhere close to the camp fire. Scanning around Lisswyn notices only three more riders a few yards away but no Éomer.

"We will miss the harvest feast at the Hornburg, then," Torfrith grumbles over the prospect of missing out on a night of drinking, dancing and canoodling with a kitchen girl.

"Don't you think, Théodred will wait for our return?" Dunsig looks up from his breakfast, first at Torfrith but then his glance moves on to Lisswyn.

Meeting his look, the first shieldmaiden opens her mouth to reply but finds herself at a lack of words. Why do conversations involving Théodred, whether in person or as topic, always leave her mind blank and dumb?

"Of course, he will," Hefric quickly pipes in. Lisswyn's eyes dart over from Dunsig to Hefric to find his look pinned to her. Swallowing, she lowers her head, starting to feel uncomfortable in the company of Éomer's friends.

"I pray to Béma, you are right," Torfrith declares and Hefric dares him mockingly.

"You just want to chase some skirts, rascal."

"Of course, I do, and don't tell me you've lost that urge, my friend. I don't believe you."

"I am a married man…" Hefric protests, laughing.

"Aye, but your wife is at Aldburg. You never missed out on an opportunity when you were younger." Torfrith points his finger at his friend, sitting opposite of him.

A hearty laugh is Hefric's answer. "We all were a bit wilder when we were younger."

"I'm still wild!" Torfrith claims, sending the whole group into fits of laughter, before suddenly turning to Lisswyn. "It's a pity you are Théodred's personal guard, don't you think?"

Puzzled, she looks at him.

"With all of us here at camp, it's almost like the old days, I think. Only Félarof and Wigbald are missing to make our group at Edoras complete. Oh, and Éowyn." While Torfrith is still speaking, Lisswyn notices how Éomer comes walking towards the campfire, and feels her inside growing tense.

"Almost like the old days," she presses out and stands up before she determinedly turns to face the prince. Straightening her back, she looks at him squarely, prompting him to stop in his tracks about two steps before he has reached the sitting log at the fire.

"I wish to apologize, my lord." Her voice is flat, but slightly contrite. "My actions and words at the Entwash and at the fords yesterday morning were improper." Avoiding his gaze and waiting for his reply she bites down hard. Éomer only blinks at her and a moment of tense silence spreads at the fire.

Slowly, Lisswyn raises her chin to look at the prince. "I… am prepared to whatever penitence you deem appropriate, my lord."

The prince gapes at her, perplexed. Did she just address him with his title twice? His heart clenches at that and he blinks. Feeling the eyes of his friends on him, he pulls himself together. "Your apology is accepted, shieldmaiden." His voice is cold as ice. "I will decide on your penitence later." Feeling his heart in his throat, Éomer stares at her.

Lisswyn takes his reply with a curt nod. "If it pleases you, my lord, may I be excused?"she mumbles.

"Aye."

With a polite incline of her head the shieldmaiden steps back before turning around and walking away.

Hefric turns to Torfrith abruptly with and angry frown. "Almost like the old days?" he repeats his friend's earlier words to Lisswyn. "Since when have you become such a tactless clod?"

"Tactless clod? Just because two people here obviously are at odds and can't find a way to talk it out? I refuse to let this keep me from speaking the truth."

Éomer bites down hard. What happened at the fire before he approached? Hesitatingly he sits down next to his friends, his mind still reeling. He feels his heart constrict.

"Lisswyn is a bit more than just Théodred's personal guard," Hefric lectures, but Torfrith only shakes his head.

"Not until a betrothal is declared." Torfrith's, Dunsig's and Hefric's heads turn towards Éomer but the Marshal doesn't look at them. He stares into the flames of the camp fire instead.

There is truth to his friends' words. Lisswyn is nothing more than Théodred's personal guard until a betrothal is announced. Yes, he gave his cousin his word not to interfere in their courtship. Yet there is truth to Hefric's words from yesterday, too. He needs to tell her how he feels.

~ S ~

Looking down from the outer parapet walk at the grey-clad figure sitting on the Mearh's back outside on the causeway, he smiles. "Grayhame," Théodred calls the old man, surprised and pleased at the same time.

The wizard looks up from under his cloak's hood, his brows drawn up questioningly. "Has the courtesy of the Hornburg lessened along with that of Edoras?"

A wide smile spreads on the prince's face. "Open the gate," he calls to his men before he turns on his heels and hurries down the steps to the outer courtyard to meet his unexpected guest. He has known Gandalf since his childhood years. His grandmother and the old wizard had been close confidents. From her Théodred had learned to trust the Istari; although blunt at times, his council was always wise and well-meaning, and though sometimes gruff and seemingly unfriendly, it was not uncommon for the wizard to find humour at the most unexpected moments.

"The courtesy at Edoras cannot be so atrocious if my father gave you his most precious horse, Grayhame," the heir points out with a smile, his tone questioning at the same time.

"I did not ask," the old wizard mumbles with twinkling eyes and a twitch to the corner of his mouth as he dismounts the grey horse.

Théodred's eyebrows shoot up in surprise and the Istari shows him a cheeky grin. "Shadowfax chose to aid me on his own account." With a clap to the proud stallion's crupper the wizard sends the horse on its way outside the thick fortress' walls again, knowing that the Lord of all horses would rather spend his night out on the plains than in the confined bays of the Hornburg stables.

"Hm," knowing the wizard's tendency to bend the truth to fit his purposes, the prince gives Gandalf another smirk. "Well, I trust you to return him to the realms of Rohan once he has served you efficiently."

A growling grumble in the back of the wizard's throat is his only answer. After studying the prince's face for a long moment in silence the wizard nods. "Trust – it's a precious treasure. We need to talk about it."

Signalling with his hand towards the gates to the inner circle, Théodred replies, "come inside then."

0-0-0-0-0-0

Again sitting cross-legged on her cliff from the morning, Lisswyn looks out over the fords' vale, warming her hands against yet another mug of hot tea. Over the course of the day the mass of clouds had opened up and now a low westering orange sun sends out its last rays over the Gap of Rohan.

At the sounds of heavy boots approaching, the first shieldmaiden straightens her back and casts a quick glance over her shoulder.

To find Éomer standing there startles her. Quickly she stands as well. "How can I be of service, my lord?" she asks him flatly.

Ignoring her greeting to brace himself for the conversation he means to have with her, Éomer takes in the scenery in front of him: the first shieldmaiden on the cliff top, her back turned towards the wide Gap of Rohan, narrowing to a mile wide vale below the cliff, with rivulets, pebble benches, occasional pine trees spread in between and the forest edges to the north and west of the vale.

"This is a good spot to look out over the fords," the prince states thoughtfully. "We should assign a permanent post up here while we guard them."

Turning to follow his gaze, Lisswyn realises the truth in his words. Why hadn't she recognized the strategic advantage of this cliff top before? Her mind must have been very occupied with all the events of the past few days and especially with what Théodred and Éomer had said to her.

"How long do you think we should stay here and watch the fords?" the Marshal pulls her out of her musings.

His question surprises her once more. He asks her advice? Scanning the vale in front of her she takes a sip of her tea, taking her time thinking about this question for a moment, before she gives her answer. "Three or four days, I'd say. If the black riders haven't come back by then they probably won't at all, or at least not in the near future."

Watching her as she stands there, in front of him, her body halfway turned away to look out at the vale, he notices how she holds the mug with both her hands. It's so typical of her. The fingers spread out around the mug, embracing it and sucking up the warmth coming from the tea inside heating the wooden pot. It's how she always warms her hands with her tea.

Feeling his heart in his chest, he smiles softly. _'You should tell her how you feel about her,'_ Hefric's words echo through Éomer's head. _'You should tell her you love her.'_ If there is anything remotely close to being the right time for a confession it would be now, he decides, his cheeks burning with anxiety.

"May I sit down?" he asks cautiously motioning with his hand at the cliff's edge.

"Of course, my lord."

He stops in his tracks, straightening his back and turning his head to look at her again. "Why do you call me 'my lord'?" he asks with a soft voice.

"It's the proper way to address you," she replies curtly holding onto her mug as if it is a straw that keeps her from drowning in the currents, as if it is a barrier between them she desperately wants to hold up, as they face each other standing on that high cliff.

"Lisswyn," he bids her carefully searching her eyes. They are emotionless. All her guard is up, he realizes. "Can we talk?"

"What do you wish to talk about, my lord?"

Her persistent use on his title finally breaks his calm.

"Lisswyn, stop it, please," he urges half pleading half annoyed. "I came to apologize, don't you know?"

Her grip on the mug tightens. Disbelieving she looks at him.

"I am sorry for yelling at you, for my words."

As if frozen in time they stare at each other for a long moment, searching each other's eyes.

There should be a feeling of relief, of happiness in her chest, but all Lisswyn feels is this raw pain. Hesitantly she nods her head. "Excuse me," the shieldmaiden finally murmurs before she steps past him and stalks away.

Staring at her retreating back, Éomer swallows hard.

He came to make amends with her, to bridge the divide which had come up between them. The words were out, the apologies spoken, yet the tension, the rift between them remained, wide like a canyon. He was willing to go against his word he had given Théodred and interfere in their courtship by confessing his feelings, but now all he feels is a dull pain throbbing in his chest. Blinking hard he tries to calm his stinging eyes.

With a deep sigh Éomer finally sits down on the rock.

~ S ~

"War is gathering around Rohan," the sonorous voice of the wizard states, void of any emotion.

"This is dire news, Grayhame," the prince murmurs.

For three long hours he and the grey wizard had been talking in the Hornburg study, interrupted only twice by the return of a patrol and a kitchen maid, serving a late supper for the two men.

At first they talked about the king's withering health and how Théodred ended up residing at Helm's Deep instead of at his father's side. Then the prince recounted for the wizard what Éomer told him about the Steward of Gondor's son, Boromir, and the sightings of presumably nine black riders in Eastemnet. He finished his report with their patrol to the eastern borders, the orc ambush at Sarn Gebir and his suspicions about Gríma being involved in it and having a spy amongst his men.

At that point Gandalf started his own account about his capture at Orthanc, Saruman's alliance with Barad-dûr, confirming Théodred's assumption about the origin of the black riders and how Théoden had refused to listen to the Istari's warnings.

Now, leaning back in his armchair, Gandalf puffs on his long pipe. Blowing white smoke rings into the already thick air of the cramped study the wandering wizard waits for Théodred to comprehend the vast amount of information he just placed before him.

"What can I do?" Sitting across from the old man in front of the room's fireplace, Théodred wipes his face with his large powerful hand. His father is being poisoned by Saruman through his minion Gríma with the clear aim to gain power over Rohan. And there is nothing he can do about it because he is banished from Edoras. Only his father's death could put him in a position to get rid of Wormtounge. He doesn't want to wish for his father's death.

With a grim expression he studies the seemingly unfazed Gandalf with his large pipe in one hand and his stick in the other. "Do you have any advice for me, Grayhame?"

With a deep sigh, the old wizard pulls the pipe from his lips and leans forward. "You have to hold your borders to the west and the north. Let Saruman not gain grounds in Rohan." His dark grey eyes study the prince intensely from underneath thick white brows. "We need you as a stronghold against the dark lord. If Orthanc and Barad-dûr join forces we will be doomed. This may not happen."

"Saruman already has a hold on the Riddermark if what you said about Gríma and my father is true." The prince's voice sounds exasperated. "I cannot just stand by and watch Gríma kill him."

"Gríma is like a parasite. He poisons your father, yet he will not kill him." The Istari's large hand comes to rest on Théodred's knee for comfort. His voice is calm and reassuring. "If he killed him, he would lose his purpose and be without value for the white wizard. It would be his death, too."

"You ask me to stand idly by?"

"No," Gandalf shakes his head and leans back again. "Hold Rohan's borders. That's all you can do, and do not lose hope, my friend. It has not forsaken us yet. Sometimes aide comes in forms never expected." Slowly Gandalf takes another puff from his pipe. "I was warned that the Nine are abroad again, disguised as riders in black and asking for news of the Shire. Tell me, are they still in Rohan?"

"A patrol caught sight of them almost three days ago on the border of Westemnet to Westfold." The prince reaches out for a chunk of cheese on his supper plate. "They were heading for the Gap. I sent a patrol after them to ensure that they cross the borders to Dunland and do not return."

Alarmed, the wizard straightens his back, his long grey beard falling down stiff and straight like bristling wire. Clutching his stick, the knuckles of his hand turn white as he launches from his chair. "Then I have to leave you now, my friend."

"Now?" the prince asks surprised. "The sun has already set, it's growing dark outside."

"Sometimes the dark is more a friend than a foe, my young prince. I have to hasten. Meet me in Imladris and be assured Rohan does not stand alone."

Quickly, Théodred comes to his feet as well. "I have to wait for my cousin to return from his patrol to the fords of Isen to take over command here. As soon as he is back I will make the journey."

With a gentle tap to Théodred's shoulder the old wizard steps past the prince, nodding, and walks out of the study.

~ S ~

The sun has not come up high enough for the first rays to reach the camp when Lisswyn wakes up on the third day at the fords. With closed eyes she listens how Wilrun stirs in her bedroll. Casting a quick glance over at her friend she notices the other shieldmaiden is awake as well.

"Good morning, Lisswyn. Are you alright?" Wilrun asks, her voice still throaty from sleeping.

Shaking her head, the first shieldmaiden admits, "I'm tired and I feel like…," she trails off.

"Éomer?" the other woman asks quietly. Nodding slowly Lisswyn turns her head to look at her companion.

"Did something happen between the two of you back in Helm's Deep?" Wilrun asks, pushing herself up to sit opposite of the first shieldmaiden.

Lisswyn pushing herself up to sit as well, tilts her head in confusion. "What do you mean?"

"Did you say something to upset him there?"

"No," Lisswyn shakes her head once more. "As soon as the patrol from the Deeping Stream returned with news of the black riders I went to see Théodred. Éomer was called in after a short while and…" as she recounts the conversation in the Hornburg study she remembers the moment she talked to Théodred alone at the window. Recalling how he kissed her forehead, Lisswyn straightens her back and presses her lips together, her eyes drawn together in regret. That's why Éomer accused her of acting like a queen during their fight. He saw the kiss.

"What happened?" Wilrun presses.

Lisswyn swallows. "Théodred asked for my permission for courtship the night before we crossed the Entwash."

"He did?" Wilrun sounds utterly surprised.

"Aye. I haven't given it yet."

"Does Éomer know about this?"

"I assume he does," Lisswyn shrugs her shoulders once. "At the Hornburg, while Erkenbrand and Aldor told Éomer about the spy amongst Théodred's men, Théodred, he… he kissed me."

"You kissed in front of the Marshals?" Surprise has turned into incredulity.

"No," Lisswyn hurries to calm Wilrun. "He kissed my forehead after he told me to be careful."

Wilrun's eyebrows arch. "Still, a kiss from the king's son…"

"I know it is a rather obvious statement." The first shieldmaiden admits, her gaze lowered to the ground.

"And Èomer saw it?"

"Yes."

"Well, I think it is safe to assume he knows what's going on…"

The two women lock eyes again. Lisswyn's hazel ones speak of uncertainty and hurt. Wilrun's blue-grey ones show empathy and understanding.

"Aye…," the first shieldmaiden finally mumbles.

"How do you feel about all of this?"

"I don't know." Lisswyn shrugs her shoulders. "I mean, Théodred wants to court me… I should be thrilled, shouldn't I?"

"Merelis would be thrilled," Wilrun jokes and the two women share a timid laugh.

"How do you feel, truly?"

"Confused," the first shieldmaiden admits lowering her eyes once more and starting to play with the buckle of her sword belt. "I never looked at him in this way. For six years he has only been my duty, his safety my sole purpose. Then a couple of months ago he started treating me as a confident, asked for my thoughts and advice on certain questions. He even asked me to call him by his name when we are alone. Yet I never thought…"

"Do you think you can grow to love him?"

"I don't know. He is gentle, and charming, and handsome, and…" Lisswy pauses. Looking back up, she lets out a deep sigh, "and when I ask myself who I like to have at my side it's…" she needs to take another pause and a deep breath before she admits, "it's Éomer."

"Have you told him how you feel about him?"

"Théodred?"

"Éomer"

"No." Lisswyn shakes her head once more.

"Why not?"

Lisswyn lowers her gaze again, her hands fumbling with the buckle once more. Her answer is barely more than a mumble. "Because he does not feel the same way about me."

"How do you know if you have never asked him?" Wilrun starts to sound agitated causing Lisswyn to defend herself.

"I know him," she stresses, looking up at her friend again. "He prefers women with more..." Her hands come up, half cupped, and she holds them in front of her chest, indicating a larger décolleté.

"That's physical attraction you are talking about, not love…" Wilrun's impassioned argument is cut short by a heated Lisswyn.

"If he felt the same way about me he would not have threatened to put me in manacles…"

"Has it ever crossed your mind that he said those things to you because he is jealous and very much frightened to lose you to his cousin?"

Realisation starts to trickle in Lisswyn's mind. Is it possible? Looking at her companion with wide eyes, Lisswyn stutters, "You… you mean he…"

"He loves you, yes." Wilrun nods and the two women look at each other for a moment, Wilrun's lips slowly spreading into a smile.

Suddenly Lisswyn states flatly, "I have to talk to him."

A wider smile and a slow nod from her friend are the answer. "Aye."

Hurriedly, Lisswyn crawls out of the tent and heads for the campfire, yet Éomer is obviously not up yet.

Looking around in the camp with most Éorlingas still sleeping Lisswyn unknowingly makes her way over to the tree where her stallion and a couple of geldings are racked up.

With a heavy sigh she drops to the ground and pulls out the knife she always wears in a holster around her right upper leg. Théodred's knife. Her mind wanders to the heir. He wants her to become his wife, asked her to consider him, consider a courtship between them.

She hasn't consented yet but does she really have a choice? Although her heart clearly beats for the younger cousin is she actually free to turn Théodred down? Somehow she doubts it.

Letting out another sigh the first shieldmaiden starts to brush the knife's blade with her thumb.

It doesn't matter. Even if she has to become Théodred's wife, she also has to rekindle her friendship with Éomer and see how he reacts to her confession. She owes him to be honest at least.

~ S ~

For almost an hour Lisswyn has been brushing Daeroch's coat, polishing her saddle and reins and sharpening her knife, waiting for Éomer to step out of his tent so that she can try and talk to him, when the warning horn breaks the peaceful quiet of the camp.

"Orcs!" the post on the high cliff Lisswyn used as her solitude spot the last days calls before he starts to come running down the small trail to the camp.

Alarmed, the first shieldmaiden jumps to her feet and rushes over to the camp's fire.

"How many?" Leofstan's call at the approaching guard resonates over the camp.

"Two hundred at the least. They will be here in about ten minutes if they keep up their pace."

From the corner of her eyes the first shieldmaiden notices how Éomer storms out of his tent.

"Ready the horses and prepare for battle," the Marshal shouts his orders for every rider to hear.

Lisswyn dashes to her tent to get her shield and armour. As she pulls the ties of her breastplate tight, Wilrun drops down on her knees at her side, reaching for her armour and weapons as well.

"You have his left, I have his right," Lisswyn tells her companion before she ducks outside the tent again to get Daeroch ready. She doesn't need to clarify who _he_ is. Even if she avoided being near Éomer during the past two days and even after their failed reconsiliation last night she will guard him now, with her life if necessary.

As she pulls the bridle over Daeroch's head the shieldmaiden feels her hands shake with anticipation and anxiousness. At least two hundred orcs the post said. Five orcs against one rider if the guards down in the fords vale make it back to camp in time. The odds are clearly not in their favour. They may all die this day. If only she can make sure Éomer survives…

Another rider joins her among the horses, throwing saddles on horsebacks and pulling girths tight.

As the anxiety over the impending battle starts to spread through Lisswyn's body her heartbeat accelerates. She fights down her fear with calming words of self-insurance. 'You were trained for this. Keep your guard up. Be fast and vigilant and you will beat them. Orcs are brutish, but slow.'

"If the odds turn against us, you and Wilrun have to get the Marshal out of here," a male voice pulls her out of her mantras. Turning her head to look at the rider who joined her readying the horses, Lisswyn realises it is Leofstan, Éomer's captain.

"Aye," she acknowledges. The seasoned warrior had the same disturbing thoughts like she did. They will not make it.

Together the two sprint back to the camp's centre where Éomer is giving out his orders to the five guards who held their posts at the fords and just now returned to camp.

"I am at your side, my lord," Lisswyn tells Éomer firmly as she pulls her helmet over her head. Unlike the last time at the Anduin at least this time she enters an ambush with orcs fully armed and in broad daylight.

The last fact should have been a cause for concern to her. However Wilrun told her two weeks ago that the orcs which are attacking Rohan's west these days are bigger, stronger and able to fight even under a blazing sun.

"I have your back, Lisswyn," she hears Éomer's soft reply. Startled she turns her head to meet his look. It is warm but also regretful and apologizing. He knows they will die, too. The thought pierces her heart, causing Lisswyn to swallow hard. They will die and she hasn't told him.

"I am at your side, my lord," Wilrun's voice from Éomer's other side stops Lisswyn's train of thoughts. The Marshal turns his head and acknowledges the other shieldmaiden's report to duty with a curt nod. It's the last thing Lisswyn sees, before the loud roars of anger from the hoard of orcs and the similar answering roars of the riders signal the start of the battle.

Instantly Lisswyn feels the rush of fighting pulse through her veins. As though in trance she notices Hefric placing himself at a tree trunk, lifting his bow and nocking his first arrow. As the vile creatures come running towards them a burst of arrows from the ten archers in their company hit their marks, taking down not even half the orcs in the first row. Lisswyn takes a step forward to meet one of the surviving beasts, her heart pounding in her chest.

Using her agility and smaller body size, Lisswyn dodges the blade the orc swings at her head and rams her own sword in the small gap between his breastplate and his heavy sword belt. A blood-curdling howl is the foul creature's answer as her sharp blade cuts into the thick black skin and the stinking intestines. Growling, the shieldmaiden twists her weapon and pulls it back out before spinning herself to the side to evade the collapsing mass of a dead body.

Swiftly checking her position towards Éomer from the corner of her eye she scans her surroundings for the next potential threat to the one who is her charge. Before the assailant can meet Éomer she kicks at the orc's knee from the side, taking him down and ramming her sword in the exposed nape of his neck. Looking back up she sees another of the black bastards running to meet Éomer who is already engaged in a fight with two others. Without thinking she lets go of her sword, pulls the knife from her leg holster, and throws it. With the knife's hilt where the beast's left eyes was only seconds ago the orc drops to the ground.

The first shieldmaiden is in full battle mode now. The mayhem of the fighting around her provides for the right tapestry of sounds to keep her focused. Taking down the threats one after the other, leaving out the rest. Reacting to the movements in her nearer field of vision without thinking as if her mind and body have detached from one another, every single one of her moves automated, like muscle memory of long practiced routines, fast, relentless, with the clear aim to kill.

Catching a motion from the corner of her eye, Lisswyn pulls her sword free again and spins around to catch an axe blow with her shield. She feels the traction in her shoulder instantly. Grimacing, she forces herself to focus on the enemy in front of her instead of the injury that hasn't completely healed yet. She will use her anger over her weakness to fuel her and not let this monstrosity defeat her. Growling, Lisswyn pushes forward, her good shoulder colliding with the orc's midriff. Taken by surprise the large creature topples over her rounded back and falls forward landing on his face.

Lisswyn doesn't have the time to finish him off as another foul beast charges towards her. She curses under her breath. If she can't kill the one whom she just took down he will come at her back while she fights off the next. But she doesn't have the time to ponder on this longer. With her blade she catches the new orc's swing with his axe aimed at her head.

Grinding their teeth and snarling at each other the orc and the first shieldmaiden push against each other. The beast's yellow eyes pierce her green ones. She will not be able to hold against his brutal power for much longer. Agility and wits are her strengths. She has to get out of this tie. With a loud yell she shifts her weight on her left food and kicks the orc in his crotch. Wincing the creature goes down on his knees. Before she can finish him off, she senses the other orc in her back rising from the ground and preparing to take her down with his axe. Spinning on her left leg, she kicks him in the chest. The monster loses his balance and crushes back down on his back. Quickly Lisswyn thrusts her sword into his body before she reaches for the knife tucked into her sword belt at her back. With another swift turn on her heels she stabs the knife into the kneeling orcs neck and cuts his throat. Black blood pools over her hand.

Panting heavily Lisswyn glances around, noticing how Wilrun, Éomer and Hefric are in similar dire situations as herself just moments ago. Each one of them fights off two or even three orcs at the same time.

'They are too many.' The thought rushes through her mind. It's the moment panic starts to settle in. Not ready to accept that fate yet, Lisswyn hurriedly fetches her sword and the knife still sticking in her kill and runs over to Éomer's side again, taking down another orc, then two, three more, but the beasts just keep coming. Even in her blood frenzy she notices at least five riders down on the ground, motionless.

It's Leofstan's voice that pulls her back to full consciousness. "My lord, we must retreat. Lisswyn, get the Marshal out of here."

In the mayhem the first shieldmaiden does not catch what Éomer calls back to his captain. Still fighting off an orc she gives one long sharp whistle calling for her stallion. Daeroch dashes to her side only seconds later. Holding his reins, she turns to Éomer. "My lord, quick, take my horse. Wilrun, guard the Marshal."

The prince is about to protest, when Leofstand comes to his side as well. "I'll get the other horses, my lord. You need to ride," the seasoned warrior urges once more. "They are too many, we won't be able to fight them all off. We have to retreat."

With a sharp nod of his head Éomer accepts Leofstan's advice. "Retreat!" his powerful tenor voice sounds over the battlefield calling for his men to join him. Waiting for them to get their horses, the Marshal rides back and forth on an eager Daeroch behind Lisswyn's and Wilrun's back. The two shieldmaidens fight off the approaching orcs with all they have left.

It's only a minute later that a group of riders on horseback and a couple of rider-less horses dart in between the women and the line of orcs still trying to get at Éomer.

"Lisswyn," Leofstan calls from his horse, holding Firefoot's reins for her. "Come."

With a swift leap the shieldmaiden mounts the stallion's back. Wilrun follows suit with her own horse. From the corner of her eye Lisswyn notices how Torfrith and two others stay behind on the ground giving them the possibility to escape. Desperately she hopes that they will make it out, too.

"Ride!" Éomer's powerful command echoes across the battleground. The group of riders breaks free from the fray in a fierce gallop.

~ S ~

Three loud horn blows announce the company arriving at the Hornburg in the early evening.

Hurrying down the steps to meet them in the inner courtyard Théodred cannot help to smile. Twice he had been heading down those steps with anticipation over the course of the last two days when the return of a patrol had been announced. The first was the usual patrol from the north reporting no unusual sightings there on the evening he talked with Gandalf. The second was the supply company returning from Edoras with beer, wine, food and the presents he bade his cousin to purchase and ordered Edgar to bring back with him earlier this day. Now is the third time and he'll be damned if it was not Éomer's patrol and he will finally get to see her again.

Stepping outside of the long winding stairs of the fortress onto the dais overlooking the inner court he watches the company riding through the gateway with Éomer, Lisswyn and Wilrun up front. Something in their postures tells him immediately that the patrol did not go as smoothly as predicted. Quickly he comes down the stairway from the burg's entrance to the inner court beneath it a worried look already forming on his face.

"What happened?" he addresses the leading three riders, looking at the first shieldmaiden who is back on Daeroch now after she and Éomer quickly changed horses on their way back to Helm's Deep.

"We were ambushed at the fords." Éomer's answer is short-clipped from the tension he still feels. The flight from the fords weighs heavy on his heart. Not only have they lost more than twenty of his best warriors in the battle, among those his old friends Torfrith and Dunsig. They even abandoned three of the company to save their own lives.

"Are you unharmed?" Again Théodred directs his question towards Lisswyn.

This time she answers him. "Yes, we are fine."

"Éomer?" The prince shifts his gaze.

"We lost twenty-five men." Éomer replies as he dismounts Firefoot.

Théodred's eyes widen with horror. "Twenty-five?" Unthinkingly he reaches for Daeroch's reins to hold the stallion while Lisswyn jumps down as well. His head turns to look at her. There is pain in her eyes and the prince's gaze softens immediately.

Slowly turning back to face his cousin again, he asks, "How many were they?"

"Around two hundred, maybe more. It was as if they knew we were there, as if they came to specifically take us all down."

For a short moment a thick silence spreads between the two princes before Théodred recovers from the information. The traitor must have found a way to send message to Gríma. There is no other way Saruman could have known about the patrol at the fords. He has to hold council with Erkenbrand, Aldor and his cousin.

"Give me your full report inside." The heir turns towards the stairs to the Fortress and starts to make his way up.

"I take Firefoot for you," Lisswyn tells Éomer quietly. For a short moment her and Éomer's eyes lock. As the prince hands her the reins, their fingers brush. With a small smile Éomer puts a hand on her arm and nods. Shyly, Lisswyn smiles back and Éomer follows his cousin.

~ S ~

"Send me to Minas Tirith, Théodred. Let me bind our old ties with Gondor anew." When Éomer ended his report to his cousin, Erkenbrand, and Aldor, Théodred led the other commanders in on Gandalf's brief visit and the information he had given him the night before.

"No. If Grayhame's assumptions are correct, we will receive no help from Denethor. He urged me to seek council with Rivendell instead."

"Is that not a little far-fetched, my lord? So far Rohan has always been able to see to its safety on its own," Erkenbrand questioned with a deep frown. As usual the old Marshal is standing in front of Théodred's desk, legs in a wide stance, arms crossed in front of his chest.

Looking up from his chair behind the desk Théodred meets his look squarely. "But at what costs? How long will we be able to do so? What if there are threats lurking to the north as well as to the east that we are not aware of?" The heir feels the anxiety from the night before rising within him again. "My father is not in his right mind any longer. He would not recognize a threat even if it was banging on the doors of Meduseld."

"You are probably right," Aldor agrees from where he is standing next to the study's door and two steps away from the old Marshal. Éomer who has taken a seat at the short end of the table stares at the desk in front of him with a grim expression on their face.

"Who do you wish to send, my lord?" Erkenbrand asks.

"I will go myself and I will take only six guards with me. We don't want to raise any suspicions."

"I cannot agree to that, my lord," Aldor objects.

"I second him", Éomer assents to the captain, looking alarmed now. "You are needed here and we cannot risk you taken captive or killed. Let me go in your stead."

"No." Théodred replies firmly. "I have to go. My father is not able to rule his kingdom any longer. I am my father's heir, and the equivalent to Boromir of Gondor. I have to go to Rivendell personally. I will not argue."

"Then take more men with you", Éomer debates.

Only to be answered by Erkenbrand this time. "His lordship is right, more men would only raise suspicions. He should travel in secrecy."

"So we all agree then", Théodred states looking at each of the others long enough to see them confirming with a nod. "I will depart the day after tomorrow at sunset with six guards. You hold command here while I am away, Erkenbrand. Aldor, you will take up position as second at the Hornburg and over the Westfold. Éomer, I wish you to return to Edoras. Hold command there."

Théodred puts a reassuring hand on his cousin's shoulder. "Éowyn will be happy to have you at her side again and you can check if everything is safe and calm at Meduseld. Have an eye on our king and hold Gríma at bay the best you can." His eyes search for the younger prince's. 'I know what you fear,' he tries to tell him with his look.

"Aye," the commanders' respond is spoken almost simultaneously and Théodred signals the end of their council by rising from his chair.

As the four men turn to leave the study, Éomer speaks up again. "Who are you going to take with you?"

"Edgar, Aldwine, Folcred, Éofor, Wigbald, and Haleth."

"The men we suspect to be a spy amongst?" Stunned Erkenbrand turns around, Aldor lets go of the door handle to face Théodred again, and Éomer stops in his tracks with clear bewilderment.

"I can trust Edgar and to this point whoever the spy is he has personally posed no threat to me, only relayed information to Gríma. If I take him along, there is no way he can send new reports. You will be safer here. We have to keep this journey secret until we depart though. Lisswyn and Wilrun will come with me as well, Merelis will be your second guard now, Éomer."

Hearing Lisswyn's name Éomer feels his heart jump to his throat. Of course Théodred will take her along, he realises. But still, the thought of them together on this journey… Quickly, the Marshal of Aldburg hardens himself against the feelings that are welling up in his chest. His face shows nothing of his inner turmoil and he simply nods in response. "So be it then."


	13. For all of time

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everybody,
> 
> sorry for the long wait again. My life was just too busy this summer. I am back to writing regularly now, so the next updates should come sooner.
> 
> Thanks to all of you who are still with me and this story.
> 
> Be warned, however, Lisswyn and Éomer both make a decision in this chapter you might not like. It is not the end of the story though and we all know what will happen to Théodred, right? So, keep hanging on... ;-)
> 
> Thanks to three wonderful people who help me make this story what it is: My wonderful writing buddy and most honest critic Polly, my equally wonderful beta-reader Scribe of the Fancyful and last but not least my sounding board JJ.
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

**For all of time**

_"I know now, just quite how_  
_My life and love might still go on_  
 _In your heart, in your mind,_  
 _I'll stay with you for all of time"_ (The Calling)

* * *

The Hornburg sounds like a busy beehive. Through the open window in his bedchamber Éomer hears the rummaging around in the fortress' inner and outer courtyards. Voices are shouting orders as wagons are being unloaded, wine and beer barrels rolled across the courtyards' cobble-stone pavements, wooden planks are hammered together to form a platform for dancing, and fireplaces with iron grills are built for tonight's harvest feast. It is only half an hour past sunrise yet dozens of riders, cooks and kitchen maids are already in full preparations.

Rolling onto his back, the Marshal opens his eyes. 'She is not betrothed yet,' his first thought after waking up sends his heart into a race like an electric shock. There is still hope… but no, he gave Théodred his word. The excited beating turns into an aching in his chest.

Slowly getting up from his bed, he grabs his breeches and puts them on, followed by a tunic and a belt. Taking his sword and knifes, he leaves his room and rushes down the stairs. He needs to go to the smithy to have his weapons sharpened.

At the end of the long winding staircase of the Hornburg's five-story living tower his friend Hefric is leaning against the thick wall, his head bend over, playing with something in his hand. His face looks sunken.

"Hefric," Éomer calls him and his best friend looks up. His eyes hold a haunted expression with dark circles underneath them.

"It's Torfrith's," he murmurs, holding out a tassel for Éomer to see. Dark brown leather and black horse hair, with Torfrith's name engraved on the leather amulet.

Silently, Éomer nods. He knows exactly how Hefric feels. Torfrith and Dunsig had been two of their longest and closest friends, from the beginning of their training at Edoras until this day. They had spent many nights together playing kings and crowns, checkers, or throwing the dice, drinking ale and joking around.

After his appointment as Marshal of Aldburg he took both of them as well as Hefric with him to his new post, made them riders of his éoreds, so that at least some of the people he was close with would be with him. Although they still shared many meals and evenings together at the king's city of old, things changed, too. As Marshal, Éomer had so many new duties, he spent a lot of nights at his study while his friends indulged in their old pastimes. Sometimes he envied them for the fun and laughter they shared while he was still working, but he was also grateful to have them at Aldburg nonetheless. _Had_ them, for Torfrith and Dunsig passed on to the halls of their forefathers yesterday at the fords.

"I'm sorry," is all the prince can say to his friend now. Placing a hand firmly on Hefric's shoulder, he tries to give him comfort, dreading at the same time that he will have to spend hours this afternoon writing letters to the families of the fallen. Each one of those letters will feel like a heavy burden on his shoulders, but the ones for Dunsig's and Torfrith's parents will be the hardest of all to write.

"We will drink to their honour tonight," Éomer squeezes his shoulder one last time before dropping his hand to his side.

"Aye," Hefric rasps, and after a short moment in silence Éomer continues on his way to the smithy.

Without thinking he reaches into his breeches' pocket and pulls forth the lucky tassel. "For good fortune – Lisswyn." He looks at her engraving, recalling the moment she gave it to him as if it was yesterday.

_It was the day of his final trials to become a rider of Rohan._

_On the way from the barracks down to the training fields he felt nervous. There was no question he would pass the exam, he always passed his trials with ease. He was considered the best in his year._

_Throughout his time as trainee his friend Wigbald had always been his hardest competitor. Sometimes Wigbald would beat him during training or trials, sometimes he would beat Wigbald. However, during his last year Éomer had not only grown half a head taller than his friend but also put on a considerable amount of muscle. He was broad-shouldered, with a strong chest and strong arms. He was fast and skilled with the sword, had good aim with the spear and bow, and he could defeat any of his classmates in combat now, even Wigbald._

_Yet on this day, he felt the pressure to pass the trials not only as the best of his class; he felt like he was competing against both his uncle and his cousin as well. He knew the king and Théodred would be watching and he feared their scrutiny. He felt the pressure to prove to them he was worthy of becoming a rider and a future commander of Rohan. He felt the pressure to do better than they had done in their final trials. He could only beat himself on that day and it scared him._

_Approaching the field where the exam was to be held, he looked around. More than two hundred riders had come to witness. On the far end of the field he registered Estmund and two of her friends. He had been chasing the girl for a couple of weeks now and he didn't deny that he felt the desire to lure her into his bed. Her presence at this moment however bothered him. It felt as if she was invading a part of his life he didn't want to share with her._

_"Éomer," a soft warm voice from behind spread a smile over his face. He didn't need to turn around to know who called him, but he did nonetheless._

_"I wanted to wish you luck for your trials." Lisswyn closed the last few steps of distance between them. Reaching into the pocket of her breeches she came to stand in front of him. Form the corner of his eyes Éomer saw Hefric, Dunsig and Wigbald walk by towards the field, exchanging a greeting with him and Lisswyn as they passed._

_When Lisswyn pulled her hand forth again she held a tassel on her upturned open palm. "I have something for you."_

_"For me?" he asked stupidly and reached out to take it._

_"No, for the shadow behind you, beanpole," she replied with a grin and a playful furrow, trying to come across as cool, but her blushing cheeks gave her away. He smirked._

_"Thank you." He took the tassel but kept his eyes on her, holding her gaze. "Will you watch the trials?"_

_"No," she drew out her answer a bit before she added, "I wanted to take Daeroch out for a ride." Her words stung a little. He wanted her to support him from the crowd._

_"If I ask you to stay?"_

_"No, I don't think so…," tilting her head she shook it with an amused smile._

_"Why not?"_

_She glanced past him and knocked her chin in the direction of where Estmund and her friends were standing, a teasing twinkle in her eyes. "You've already got an impressive crowd to cheer for you."_

_"She couldn't tell a good shot from a bad one even if the arrow hit the target dead centre," he argued with a grin._

_"All the better, she will look up to you no matter how badly you mess up." She flashed him her dimpled, teasing smile._

_"I'd rather have your appraisal."_

_"You mean... you want me to assess you?"_

_"Yes," he turned serious and nodded._

_For a long moment they looked at each other, then she averted her eyes weighing her options and he used the moment to look at the tassel._

_It was made from soft reddish brown leather with chestnut horse hair. One side of the leather was untouched, the other had an engraving. The writing looked cumbersome like that of an unpractised writer or young child. "Looks like the first try of an unskilled apprentice."_

_"Thank you," she replied ironically._

_"You made it yourself?"_

_"Of course, I did," she half laughed. "I don't have the money to buy a fancy one from the leather worker."_

_"That's good or otherwise I would have to beat up the scoundrel who took money from you for a piece of work this unappealing."_

_"Alright, let's see if your performance at the trials today is any more skilful than my tassel."_

_Grinning widely he turned around. "It's a nice tassel, for a fist try."_

_Striding out onto the training field, he heard her call after him. "Good fortune, beanpole. Don't mess up too much."_

The corners of his mouth lift into a small bittersweet smile. If only good fortune would help this time… Turning the tassel around, he looks at the untouched backside and a thought strikes him.

Giving your companion a tassel on the eve of a battle or a dangerous journey is an old Rohirric tradition that not only lovers still use, but friends as well. Obviously Torfrith and Hefric exchanged tassels at one point in the past.

The aching in his chest gives way to a fervent beating again. He puts the tassel back into his pocket. Everything he will need he will find at the smithy.

~ S ~

"Rivendell is a three weeks' ride at least, and with only six riders…," Wilrun trails off, looking at the first shieldmaiden with a frown.

"It is dangerous, yes, but the commanders all agreed to his plan."

The room Wilrun and Merelis share in the Hornburg is the same size as Lisswyn's, located just two doors down the hallway away from her own. Instead of a table and chair a second bed has been put inside, making the chamber seem smaller, more cramped.

When the first shieldmaiden entered the room a good ten minutes ago, Wilrun was sitting on her bed, polishing her leather armour and leg protection with dubbin, undoubtedly in an effort to keep the thick, hard leather smooth and nourished after she cleaned off all the remnants of battle with water and soap the night before.

Merelis stood in front of the wardrobe, still getting dressed for the day.

Both of them took the information in silence until Wilrun dared to comment in her usual straight forward manner. Now Merelis softly addresses her commander as well: "Lisswyn, I…," the youngest of the three women fiddles with the hem of her tunic. Inhaling deeply, she looks up to meet Lisswyn's eyes. "There is something I need to tell you."

"What is it?" Lisswyn asks, feeling the hard knot of foreboding in her stomach.

"I know this is untimely, but I need a break from my duties as shieldmaiden."

"What?" Wilrun blurts out, putting the cloth she used for polishing to the side and stares at her companion in disbelief.

Although Lisswyn is just as surprised and feels her heart sink, she remains calm. "Why?"

"After the ambush at the Anduin… I", Merelis hesitates again. "Look, I do not mind being scarred for the rest of my life. I am grateful I am still alive. I know I swore an oath to give my life if necessary to protect the king and his son. I still wish to do so, but…"

"But what?" Wilrun demands impatiently now putting her breast plate onto her bed and standing up.

"You were not there on the way back from the Entwash," Merelis snaps in defence as she turns around to face Wilrun, "during that night when one of Théodred's riders died. You did not have to listen to his anguished moans of pain and…," pausing to calm her temper, Merelis turns back to face Lisswyn. "… despair, calling for his wife, his children…. His mother!" The last she stressed her eyebrows drawn together. "The sound of it haunts me every night." As she recalls the long hours of resting until the rider's final battle was over her voice becomes quieter. "I don't want to end up like that, Lisswyn. I'm scared. I can't bring myself to pick up my sword or put on my armour."

The two women look at each other in silence for a moment, then, giving a soft nod, Lisswyn replies in a hushed voice: "I will relay your request for liberty as soon as possible."

"Thank you."

~ S ~

Leaning forward against the washing stand in his bedchamber, Théodred takes a closer look at his beard in the mirror. After six weeks of letting it grow it is high time to trim it, especially for tonight's harvest feast. Carefully, he runs a brush against the grain of his beard, causing the hairs to stand up and out showing the inconsistencies in length. With a pair of shears he carefully cuts the hair growing on his cheeks and under his nose first.

He has already reached his chin when a firm knock on his door disturbs him. Still concentrating on his task he calls, "Who is it?"

"Lisswyn, my lord."

Hearing her voice through the door, his eyes dart from his face in the mirror to the image of the door. Putting down the shears he straightens. "I'll be with you in a moment."

Brushing down his beard again, he takes a scrutinizing look at his not quite finished cut. It does not look too ridiculous. Swiftly he brushes the cut hair into his palm and deposits them into the washing bowl. Straightening his tunic he walks over to his chamber's door and opens it. Lisswyn is patiently waiting a few steps away in the hallway.

"What is it, Lisswyn?"

"I need to talk to you about Merelis, my lord."

"Let's go to the study." He gestures with his hand down the hallway. It is only a few feet away. Entering the room, the prince leaves the door open to meet protocol and propriety of a courtship. After a few steps away from the door he faces the shieldmaiden again.

"I'm listening."

"Merelis wishes to have a couple of weeks liberty. I am inclined to grant it and bid you to confirm this."

Théodred is not surprised.

_"She is too gentle to be commander," Aldor cautioned his father five years ago, when the commanders of his father's court in Edoras had met in the king's study to discuss who was to be the new first shieldmaiden._

_Edhild, the one who held the position to this point had only days before relayed that she was expecting her first child, seeking permission to retire from active duty but stay in reserve should Rohan need her._

_Aldor who was given a voice in the matter because he had been Lisswyn's teacher and was still her mentor voted against her. He regarded her as too young and inexperienced as well as too gentle for the position._

_"She will grow into her role," Théodred argued back and together with Lisswyn's other supporters convinced the king to choose her._

He was wrong, the prince now realizes. Although Lisswyn grew into her role, she still is too gentle for a commander. Yet it will make her a wonderful queen. His heart swells, but he takes a firm stand: "What is her reasoning?"

"She isn't coping well with the ambush at the Anduin and being amongst the wounded."

At the prince's questioning look, Lisswyn recounts Merelis' explanation.

It's the usual anxiousness many riders feel after being wounded in a battle. "It's not a surprise coming from Merelis. She always seemed to be the least commited of you all. However, "the heir is not inclined to give in as quickly as his first shieldmaiden. "I cannot leave Éomer without protection." He shakes his head in refusal.

"Dargifu is still on duty in Aldburg. We can send notice to her to come to Edoras."

"I already did." A moment of silence fills the air as the prince contemplates the possibilities. "I grant Merelis a sabbatical until we return from Rivendell. Send her to the healers for counselling. We will talk again when we are back. In the meantime Wilrun will stay with Éomer. We will go alone."

"Go alone?" Lisswyn frowns.

"To Rivendell."

"I cannot agree, Théodred. A journey as far as to Rivendell and with only six riders is already too dangerous and…."

"Lisswyn, I said Wilrun will stay with Éomer," he cuts her short with his command.

Swallowing down the words Lisswyn wanted to say, she acknowledges with a firm nod.

"We will be leaving tomorrow at sunset. We will be travelling at night and resting out of sight during the day. Our journey has to stay secret. A larger group will leave too clear a track."

"I see", she concedes. "I will be prepared then."

"I never expect anything else." His voice has become softer again and a small smile graces his face as their eyes lock. "Save tonight's dances for me, will you?"

Blushing, she nods and tries to reply but suddenly chokes.

Smiling widely over her mishap Théodred gently claps her back. "Did you catch a cold at the fords?" he teases her.

Quickly recovering, she smirks at him, picking up on his playfulness. "My toes were actually growing cold with the prospect of being stepped upon by a multitude of riders tonight. Now, it seems they will have to put up with only one."

"Did I step on your toes in the past?" still smiling he raises his eyebrows in question.

"No, you seem to be content with making me trip," she grins.

"I will hold you securely tonight, my lady, I promise," he plays along, delighted.

"It's more than I could ever ask for."

Her last sentence, though spoken with a smirk, hits the wrong nerve. He had planned for more at the feast.

Yet she hasn't given an answer to his request for courtship yet. Eight nights have passed since he asked. Granted, she was at the fords of Isen for four days, but certainly she thought about it. She should have come to an answer by now.

"No, it's not," he tells her plainly, his face sober.

Frowning, she looks at him. Suddenly, the tension between them is thick as the smoke from wet wood, making them both feel uneasy. Irritated, he notices how her eyes start to wander about after a couple of seconds. She doesn't know what to say, he realises. Or maybe she doesn't understand what he is trying to tell her, what he wants her to tell him.

Lowering his gaze as well, he takes a steadying breath and drops his hand to his side. "Excuse me, Lisswyn, I still have to see to a couple of things before the feast."

Placing his hand on the small of her back he guides her out of the study and back to the hallway. "I will see you tonight."

~ S ~

"Really, Merelis, I don't understand you." Wilrun whispers urgently as she looks at her companion sitting across from her in the fortress' great hall. The younger woman is rearranging her breakfast on her plate not daring to look up to face her enraged friend.

"You are only to stay with Éomer within the safety of Rohan," Wilrun tries to reach her once more. "This is not a dangerous task."

With a deep sigh Merelis finally looks up. She doesn't care to lower her voice like Wilrun. "We were ambushed on our territory, Wilrun. Rohan is not safe anymore, and neither is Edoras."

Yet the other shieldmaiden will not give in so easily. Agitated, she speaks a little louder herself, too, this time. "It is nothing compared to the dangers we will face when we have to accompany Theódred to Rivendell, with only six riders and through Dunland, mind you!"

"Good morning, shieldmaidens." Placing down his breakfast plate next to Wilrun's, Wigbald looks at the two women.

Next to him Folcred takes a seat on the long bench – one of the few that hasn't been carried outside into the court for tonight's feast yet. Éofor sits down next to Merelis.

"Will you save me a dance tonight, ladies?" Wigbald asks with a winning grin.

Before neither Merelis nor Wilrun can answer, Folcred provokingly pipes in: "For a young man you are quite desperate."

"I just don't wish to chance my luck," Wigbald shrugs. "Tonight's feast will probably be the last diversion for weeks in which we patrol the plains of Westfold and Westmarch, fighting off orcs and Dunlendings."

"Aren't you going to Rivendell?" Merelis suddenly asks him which earns her a warning kick against her shin underneath the table.

"Ouch," the young woman cries out.

"Rivendell?" Éofor frowns at the same time, taking a slice of bread and a chunk of cheese from his plate.

"Why should I?" Wigbald questions just as surprised only seconds later.

Merelis meets her companion's warning glare as the three riders look puzzled between the two women. Wilrun determinedly ignores them and Merelis lowers her head, her cheeks burning. A moment of silence passes, before the three riders turn back to their breakfasts without further questions.

"Riders, shieldmaiden," one of the Éorlingas addresses the group from the head of the table. "We need to take this table out to the courtyard now." All the other remaining tables obviously were carried outside during their little debate without any of them noticing.

Grunting with displeasure, Éofor grabs his plate and rises, the others following suit without any commenting sounds or words.

„Might as well go to the smithy and get my sword sharpened," Folcred shrugs, putting his own plate down at the buffet.

Sighing Wigbald follows his lieutenant's example, as the three men leave the great hall and the two shieldmaidens behind.

"Merelis how could you?" Wilrun accuses her as soon as the men are out of earshot.

"What?" the younger demands.

"You gave away secret information!"

"They are three of Théodred's closest riders. How could I know they weren't informed yet?"

"It doesn't matter," Wilrun sounds agitated. "Lisswyn specifically told us to stay quiet about this journey. What you did could be considered treason."

Coming to see her mistake, Merelis bites her lower lip. "Don't tell her, please."

"I won't, but should tell her yourself."

~ S ~

The corners of his mouth come up into a crooked smile as Éomer puffs to himself. The engraving he just made looks almost like that of a little child. How ironic he made fun of Lisswyn about her lettering back then and that it looked like the first try of an apprentice. Now that he has worked on the leather amulet with hot nails for himself he knows how difficult it is to make a perfect smooth engraving.

The outcome is good enough, however. Lisswyn will recognize the endless knot and know its meaning: _For all of time_ , a symbol for never ending love and devotion. But will she understand what he is trying to tell her? Or will it lead to a moment of misunderstanding and confusion, like the one they had at the mountain lake around six years ago?

_It was shortly after Lisswyn was appointed first shieldmaiden. He had helped her move her belongings from the room the shieldmaidens shared to her new private bed chamber she would be living in as commander from then on. Afterwards they went riding. Their destination was a small mountain lake about two hours away from the capital in the foothills of the White Mountains to the south._

_They had come here multiple times in the past to take a swim on a warm summer day, mostly in a group with his friends from training years and some of the other shieldmaidens as well. On this day, however, they had planned to go alone which earned him an annoying discussion with a jealous Leofled, the girl he was chasing during that time. Ultimately he had just left her standing in front of her parent's door, crying, and briskly walked back to the stables to meet Lisswyn._

_Four hours later Éomer and the first shieldmaiden arrived at the lake, unsaddled their horses, and allowed them to graze before they took a swim themselves, competing in a short race which he easily won, and diving down to the lake's bottom to bring up crayfish for a small lunch. Afterwards they sat by a small fire, grilling the crayfish in a small pan and drying off in the warm summer sun._

_Éomer's mind wandered back to the tantrum Leofled had thrown earlier. An indignant puff escaped his lips as he remembered her clinging and he started to question his thoughts about asking Leofled for courtship._

_"What?" Lisswyn asked him, surprised by the sudden sound of disapproval he produced._

_"Leofled," he simply stated._

_"What about her?"_

_"I thought about courting her, but…," he shrugged._

_The conversation reminded him of the one he had with Lisswyn a couple of weeks earlier when she had asked him to talk Hefric out of pursuing her further after_ _that unfortunate night when he had kissed her. 'He isn't someone of equal footing whom I can look up to at the same time,' she had reasoned._

_"But?" Lisswyn asked him emphatically._

_"You said about Hefric that you couldn't look up to him. I feel the same way about her." Éomer scanned the small lake in front of them._

_"But this is what I think my spouse has to be like. It doesn't have to be true for you."_

_"I don't even feel like she is of equal footing."_

_A sympathetic smile graced Lisswyn's face. "It may be hard to find someone like this, seeing that you are the king's nephew and a future commander of Rohan. There are not many women who can be your equal."_

_"The same holds true for you, commander shieldmaiden," he prompted, gleefully smirking._

_"You could be such a man," she told him with a straight face, surprising him immensely._

_He felt his cheeks blush, flattered by her words. A moment of silence passed between them while he looked at her profile. Her hair, although still in her usual braid, looked messy after their swim. Her cheeks glowed with a light tan in the warm early afternoon sunshine. A few freckles adorned her nose and cheeks. Suddenly he was all too aware of her soft, pink lips, their corners coming up in an amused half-smile._

_"What are you looking at, Éomer?" she asked without looking at him._

_You. The answer was easy, but not that simple. All of a sudden he felt the wish to kiss her. Shaking his head he averted his eyes._

_"You have freckles on your nose," he stated, suddenly very aware of the fact that he wouldn't want to spend the rest of his life with Leofled._

_"I know," she answered, turning her head to face him "I always get those during the summer after being exposed to the sun for a while."_

_Facing her again, his eyes met hers._

_"I have to end this with Leofled," he told her._

_"Alright," she drew out the word as if trying to understand, searching his eyes. "How did you come to this conclusion?"_

_"Because of what you said."_

_Her eyebrows rose with astonishment. "That you could be such a man for me?" she asked grinning amused._

_"Yes." His heart hammered in his chest. How would she react? He didn't even know for himself what his answer meant._

_Frowning, Lisswyn leaned back a bit, studying his expression more closely. They looked at each other for a long moment until both broke into a wide grin._

_"You got me there, beanpole," she pointed her finger at him. "For a moment I actually wondered." Shaking her head, she turned back to the fire. "The crayfish are ready."_

_And with that the confusing moment had passed._

It had also opened his eyes.

He had been a skirt chaser all his years as trainee and young rider. After their conversation at the lake he changed his ways. He didn't pursue the girls as fervently anymore. He did not mind taking a woman to his bed every once in a while, but he never engaged into anything that might lead to a courtship. He would wait with that until the right woman showed herself, he decided back then.

How ironic, that the right woman was there all the time but is now lost to him. Sighing heavily he puts the tassel into his breeches' pocket, so that he will have it with him should the right moment to give it to Lisswyn suddenly present itself this night.

~ S ~

The sun has disappeared behind the peaks of the White Mountains northwest of Edoras only moments ago with the moon rising in the east. In the dim light of dusk Meduseld's roof tiles, once glowing golden but now withering away in the Rohirric weather, resemble more a dirty ochre tone.

A small figure stands at the side of Meduseld, looking up to the roof above the window to her room.

"Go away, you nasty crows," Éowyn shouts, hurling a stone toward the three huge black birds sitting on the tiles, looking down at her mockingly. The birds' only answer is the despicable sound they are named after, moving their heads and necks up and down as if laughing at the princess.

Another stone lands on the roof tiles with a loud smack, missing one of the black beasts only by an inch and causing the flock to fly off.

"You should not anger the crows, princess Éowyn," the mewling voice of the king's right hand startles her from behind. She hadn't noticed him, but that he is watching her does not come as a surprise. Still, every time she is made aware of it she feels appalled anew.

Turning around to face Gríma she takes a deep breath to steady her voice. "And why ever not?"

"They may strike back," he suggests with a sugared smile, "and I will have to come to your rescue."

Forcing herself not to back away from the man and his outrageous offer, she flares her nose. "I don't need your protection, Wormtongue, and never from the likes of you."

"Are you so certain about this, princess?" he dares her, his watery, light blue eyes travelling across her features, down her neck and her chest before they come to rest on her face again. His look sends a tremor of revolt through her spine.

Rejecting the desperate desire to turn around and flee, Eowyn stands her ground tall and proud until a loud crowing from the golden hall's roof seems to second Gríma's unveiled threat.

Stepping past the snake, Éowyn stalks back to Meduseld's main entrance, but instead of slipping into the great hall she hides behind one of the pillars in front of the entrance and waits, counting to 250, before she carefully peaks around the golden hall's corner again.

Her eyes grow wide with shock and curiosity. Where she has been standing just minutes ago, Gríma is now holding one of the huge black birds. The creature's claws are wrapped around his lower arm as his white hand slowly strokes the bird's head. Softly speaking to the bird, he starts to nestle with something at the bird's neck. A short moment later he lets go and shoos the bird away with a swift motion of his arm.

Crowing, the bird takes off towards the south.

Suddenly, Gríma spins around looking at where she is standing behind the pillar. Frightened to death, Éowyn flees into the golden hall.

~ S ~

"Alright, I am all done. Shall we go?" Brushing down the front of her dress to smoothen it, Lisswyn turns around to face her companions.

The women dressed for the harvest feast in Wilrun and Merelis' room together, the both of them opting for the new dresses they purchased at Aldburg two weeks ago while Lisswyn chose her off-white woollen dress with short sleeves again.

It had been a warm and dry autumn day and with hundreds of people and four build-up fire places in the fortress' inner courtyard a summer dress was called upon. On top of that the first shieldmaiden feels warm and tingly. 'Save tonight's dances for me,' Théodred asked her this morning. He clearly meant all of the dances and the prospect of being held in his arms for the most part of the night makes her nervous yet giddy at the same time.

Taking a deep calming breath, Lisswyn looks out the window. The sun is already descending towards the horizon. In half an hour the harvest feast will start. The fires along the courtyard's wall are already burning with wild boars grilling on skewers above them. Bread, stewed vegetables, stews with chicken or beef, fruits, cakes, cheese and porridges have been placed on serving tables in between the fires like a long buffet. The delicious smell of the food and the sounds of riders gathering in the courtyard reach all the way up to the women's chamber.

"I'm ready, too," Merelis' voice pulls Lisswyn's attention back to the room. Her friend is looking at her with a smile, but then tilts her head slightly. "Why don't you wear your hair open for once instead of in your usual braid?"

"What's wrong with my braid?"

"Nothing, just…" Merelis shrugs. "A half updo would be so much more elaborate."

"I don't need an elaborate hairstyle."

Merelis chuckles. "You will in the near future."

"What? Why?" Lisswyn feels an inkling creeping up in the back of her mind.

"Oh, Lisswyn, don't tell me you don't know."

Staring at her friend, the first shieldmaiden waits for Merelis to confirm her suspicion.

"Théodred," Merelis emphasizes as if talking to someone with a simple mind.

Blushing, Lisswyn tilts her head to the side.

"He's courting you. Everyone at the Hornburg knows it," her friend continues beaming at her. "I am sure Edoras and Aldburg are buzzing with the bruit".

Warmth is creeping up Lisswyn's neck, burning her cheeks. How can Merelis know what he asked her eight nights ago? Did Wilrun tell her?

"No. No, no, no," the first shieldmaiden quickly shakes her head and waves with her right pointing finger, feeling the pressure to set this misunderstand straight. "He asked for my permission to do so, yes, but I have not given it yet."

"Lisswyn!" Merelis draws out her name. "He does not need it." Again her friend sounds like she is talking to a simpleton. Lisswyn has to admit she feels somewhat dumbfounded and slow. Why would Théodred ask for her permission if he doesn't need it? And is it true? Does he not need her permission?

Merelis, however, seems to take her frown as a sign of rejection and asks her incredulously: "You are not turning down the heir of Rohan, are you?"

Suddenly, Lisswyn feels like drowning. Merelis' question, all the things Lisswyn has wondered for herself those past few days come crushing down on her like a huge wave. She averts her eyes, her look darting about on the room's floor.

Eight nights ago. She has had eight days and eight nights to think about his request. It is about time she gave Théodred an answer to his question.

She has been brooding over this at every spare moment. How she unknowingly attracted the heir of Rohan, how they have become acquainted and confidents, how he had started to flirt with her and how she soon joined him in it… how good it felt to be noticed and appreciated… wondering what it would be like to court him… how her life would change during the courtship… and later as his wife. She would be expected to be available on call to him at any time. Could she stomach sharing the bed with him? He's not repugnant and she could definitely see herself kissing him, yet more?

If she agrees to marry him she will no longer be a shieldmaiden who can go to a harvest feast in a simple woollen dress. She will be a princess. Her people will look up to her and she will have to meet expectations. She will have to look like a future queen. She will have to say and do the right things all the time. Can she do this?

Swallowing hard, Lisswyn feels her heart beat in panic. She feels the need to run, to hide, to be alone somewhere out on the plains with no one around. But she will never be able to do so again if she gives her consent to this courtship, to a marriage.

And then another thought from the last days strikes her: how there had been moments when she secretly wished she was courted by Éomer instead.

No, she cannot… she cannot!

Yet something in the back of her head tells her that "No" is not an option. She is not free to choose. She cannot say "No". It would disappoint Théodred and she has to admit that she has started to develop feelings for the king's son. She just can't tell yet what they mean.

A numbing blankness, like a fog, settles in her mind.

Feeling defeated, Lisswyn looks up to meet her friend's gaze and opens her mouth to reply, but shaking her head is all she manages.

Misinterpreting her commander's nonverbal answer, Merelis smiles widely. "Good. Because I am sure that he will propose to you soon." Taking a step towards her friend, Merelis takes Lisswyn's hands. "Now let me do your hair."

A soft knock on the door disturbs them.

"Who is it?" Wilrun who has been watching the other women's conversation with a growing awkwardness turns around, inquiring through the closed door.

"Edgar, I am looking for the first shieldmaiden."

Puzzled, the three women look at each other. Unwilling to face Théodred's captain due to her sudden lack of cheer, Lisswyn signals her friend to answer the door with a soft nod of her head. Wilrun opens it slowly and barely wide enough for Edgar to see her but not the other women.

"She is here. What's the matter?"

"Théodred prince ordered me to give this to Lady Lisswyn. He bids her wear it for the feast tonight," the captain's voice comes from the hallway just outside the door.

Letting go of the door handle Wilrun reaches through the crack. Pulling her arms back, she holds a bundle of brown cloth. "I'll hand it to her, Edgar."

"Thank you."

Swiftly closing the door, Wilrun turns to face Lisswyn. "It's soft," she states with a knock of her chin at the package in her hand. Quickly, she covers the distance and holds it out for Lisswyn to take.

"Open it," Merelis urges at her side.

Still feeling numb, Lisswyn takes the bundle and pulls the brown cloth open. Inside is something made from finest dark red silk. With shaking fingers the first shieldmaiden pulls the garment out and hears Merelis gasp.

"By the Valar, this is… it's a dress made for a princess," the younger woman states in adulation. "He'll ask you tonight!"

Her mouth slightly agog, Lisswyn audibly draws in her breath. Her heart is racing again. With worried eyes she looks up first at Merelis who displays a wide smile, then at Wilrun whose face is sober.

The latter places a soft, reassuring hand on Lisswyn's left shoulder. "He will not ask you before you consented to a courtship. It's just a gift to show you how much you mean to him. Don't worry."

Taking a step backwards, Lisswyn bumps with the pits of her knees into a stool and for a brief moment loses her balance. Quickly, Wilrun grabs her left arm and steadies her.

"I cannot wear this," the first shieldmaiden whispers under her breath.

"Of course, you can," Merelis objects. "If you don't, you'd practically rebuff Théodred."

"I've never worn anything like this before in my life," Lisswyn whines, terror in her eyes.

"There is always a first time," Merelis tells her and reaches for the evening gown in Lisswyn's hands. "I'll help you put in on."

Lisswyn's eyes dart over to Wilrun and the older woman nods smiling at her emphatically. "Merelis is right, Lisswyn. If you do not wear it tonight, he would take it as a no to his wish for marriage."

Audibly drawing in her breath through her opened mouth once more, Lisswyn tries to steady her nerves. "I'm afraid," she admits with a shaky voice.

"Of what?" Merelis asks astound.

"Everything… everything that comes along with this dress." Dread fills her heart at the thought of all the attention she will be getting.

"Don't be," Wilrun tries to calm her. "We'll accompany you down to the feast and be with you the whole evening and so will Théodred, I am sure. You said he is gentle and thoughtful towards you."

Wilrun's words are true, Lisswyn realises. All this time, the past two weeks, no, even longer, a couple of months now at least, Théodred treated her with respect. He was gentle, and charming, and funny, flirtatious, and caring towards her. And she liked it. She likes him. Surely, with time, she will even be able to love him. Becoming his wife is not the worst that could happen to her. And as her father said, sometimes people are simply not free to do as they please. Now, such a situation has come to her. But if she embraces her fate, like Théodred told her he had done with his, she will come to like it, especially with him at her side. She will become his wife and she will be happy. He will make her happy, if only she tells her heart to allow it. And she will start with this tonight.

Inhaling deeply, Lisswyn gives a small nod of consent before she starts to pull her arms out of her own dress. Smiling widely Merelis starts to unbutton the back of the red dress.

~ S ~

Stepping outside the fortress and onto the dais in front of the main entrance arm in arm with Merelis and Wilrun at her other side half an hour later, Lisswyn notices how a good number of eyes turn to her. The murmuring seems to get slightly lower.

Hesitantly, she walks to the top of the stairs with her friend. Down in the courtyard Théodred, Erkenbrand, Éomer and one of Erkenbrand's captains are standing next to a table on a makeshift dais, caught in conversation. Speaking to his second, Théodred scans the inner courtyard, then up the stairs to the fortress' entrance, his eyes passing Lisswyn briefly where she is standing on the top of the stairs and with a start returning to her immediately.

The sight of her takes him completely by surprise. Wearing the red dress he bade his cousin to purchase for her and with her hair down and only the front part pulled back she looks like a noble lady. He can feel his heart in his chest.

Next to him Erkenbrand turns his head to follow the heir's gaze. When he sees the first shieldmaiden descending down the stairs together with her companions an amused smile appears on his lips. "I'm sure you wish to greet her, my lord."

Erkenbrand's suggestion pulls Théodred out of his staring. Smiling, he says. "Yes, excuse me Marshal."

Swiftly stepping down from the dais, he walks to the stairs.

Merelis pulls her arm free, causing Lisswyn to stop in her track. Surprised, she turns her head: "Merelis?"

"Go," her friend whispers. "He comes for you."

Timidly turning back around to face him, Lisswyn realises how he is already climbing the remaining steps to meet her. Forcing a smile on her face she tentatively steps forward.

"My lady," with a small incline of his head and the formal greeting he comes to stand one step below her, meeting her face to face. Gently he takes her right hand and brings it up to his lips to place a soft kiss on her knuckles.

"You look truly beautiful tonight."

Blushing even more, Lisswyn whispers "Thank you. For the dress as well."

"I hope you like the colour?" Théodred offers her his right arm and starts to lead her down the remaining steps and towards the table on the dais.

"It is… breath-taking."

On the dais Erkenbrand notices Éomer's stiff posture and the hard lines of his jaw moving slightly as the prince grinds his teeth. Provoking a telling reaction, he states, "They look happy together, don't you think?"

The younger prince replies short clipped. "Yes. I assume they are."

Raising his eyebrows in played astonishment, Erkenbrand probes, "You don't sound too convinced, Marshal."

"I was absent minded, I am sorry, Marshal. But yes, you are right. They will make a good king and queen together."

The last sentence costs him every ounce of self-control. He barely stood the sight of Théodred greeting her. His eyes wandered off scanning the courtyard, avoiding their figures, but now he can no longer do so as his cousin and the first shieldmaiden approach the dais together. He can see her hesitating as Théodred is about to step onto the platform to lead her to a seat at his side.

"Don't worry, Lisswyn, I will not leave you there alone and Aldor will be sitting on you other side," the heir tries to soothe her.

Inhaling deeply, she steps forward and onto the dais with him. She has sat at the king's table before. As the commanding shieldmaiden she had the right to take a seat at the commander's table. So far she has only been sitting there on normal dinner nights, never on a high feast like today. And usually her seat had been on one of the far ends of the table, never right in the middle, where Théodred obviously wishes her to sit tonight.

So, despite nothing seeming unusual about the whole situation everything just feels off, new, scaring. And every rider, serving maid, cook or guard now standing to show their respect for the king's son will witness how she copes. How she holds herself and will fulfil her future role. She will not disappoint them. She will not disappoint Théodred. She will manage this situation.

Having rounded the table, Théodred and Lisswyn face the crowd – more than five hundred riders standing in respect for their future king – and the prince raises his chin to speak.

"Éorlingas, we are all here tonight, riders and commanders, friends and companions, to give thanks as our forefathers have done for centuries!

"This year has been especially testing for me personally, for our king but most of all for you who keep Rohan safe against the threads that lurk all around us. Let us remember all those we lost doing their duty to our realm, who gave their lives for lord and land. And let us thank the Valar for sparing us so far. What the future will bring we do not know, but let us pray that we shall see many more evenings like this.

"Let us pray that with Béma's help my father, our king, shall recover from the sickness that ails him and that the Valar may grant him many more years to come.

"Let us thank them for the good harvest they granted us this year and let us spend this evening together joyfully over the great dishes they provided for us and that now lay out before us in this wonderful spread on the table in good company!

"Let the harvest feast begin!"

Unanimously, the crowd answers the heir's words with a loud cheer and the traditional harvest song.

_"Our oats they are hoed,_  
and our barley's reap'd,  
Our hay it is mow'd,  
and our hovel's heap'd  
Harvest home! Harvest home!  
We'll merrily roar our harvest home!"

~ S ~

"… and then he toppled off the bench…" Wigbald gasps for air, laughing so hard tears are filling his eyes while Éomer throws his head back, roaring with laughter and holding his stomach. Hefric claps his leg with his hand, shaking his head.

Éomer joined his friends at one of the long tables in the crowd a short while ago, after having finished eating. At first the three riders drank to their deceased friends' honour with solemn faces, but soon they started to recount old stories, remembering Dunsig and Torfrith, moving from bittersweet to fond to funny memories as they carried on.

"… he was so drunk, he had to crawl back to the barracks…" Wigbald continues still shaking with laughter.

From the corner of his eyes, Éomer notices how Théodred and Lisswyn start to dance. The laughter dies on his lips and is replaced by a constrained smile.

"… and then you pretended he was your horse and sat on his back, clapping his behind." Wigbald looks at Hefric, tears of laughter in his eyes.

The tall figure of the Marshal of Helm's Deep comes to stand at Éomer's side. "Let us drink to Rohan's future, Marshal," he invited the prince. "From the looks of it, it will be a happy one."

~ S ~

The feeling of being watched rests like a heavy coat on the back and shoulders of the lone rider. Glancing around from underneath his wide brimmed hat with eyes dark as coal, the old man tries to find the source of this unsettling sensation.

"Keep calm, my friend," he mumbles, stroking the grey horse's neck. "I can feel it, too."

The horse stands on the top of a crest, the fords of Isen stretching out before them. It is a clear night and the moon, almost full, paints the surroundings in colours of blue and silver. Every tree, every brush is clearly distinguishable for the sharp eyes of the wandering wizard. Yet he can't see anything to explain why he feels vicious eyes on him and his companion.

The whole day he has waited for night to fall, deeming the middle of the night the safest moment to pass by Saruman's domain and leave Rohan through the Gap in between the White and Misty Mountains. He cautioned the proud Mearh to tread carefully and as silently as possible while riding through the Gap of Rohan. The gurgling and bickering sounds of the Isen spread into small rivulets before them, the rustling of leaves on the ground as small animals hush around make more noise than the horse and his rider. Yet they seemingly have not remained undetected.

Waiting for the lurker to reveal himself, Gandalf has stopped the horse on the top of the hill, the moon in his back, but nobody or nothing approaches.

After three minutes he slowly presses his calves into the horse's flanks, signalling Shadowfax to start moving again. In a slow careful walk, the lord of the horses makes his way down the crest towards the fords.

Suddenly a stir in the air, like the disturbance from a silent wing beat, brushes through the Istari's long white beard. Sharply, he looks up into the sky. A large bird flies swiftly towards the northeast.

"Make haste now my friend," Gandalf murmurs, pressing his legs into the stallion's flanks. "Before the minion reaches Orthanc."

A long fading crow is his answer as Shadowfax dashes forward and races across the fords heading for the relative safety of the dense woods in Dunland.

~ S ~

With their arms linked, the prince and the first shieldmaiden step on to the parapet walk that spans across Helm's Deep and shields it from the barren plains of the Westfold in front of it. The sun set more than two hours ago and an almost full moon casts his cold silvery light onto the lands. The fires of the harvest feast paint the walls of the Hornburg and especially the tall living tower in golden-reddish colours.

From the courtyards in their backs the sounds of the harvest feast still reach their ears, the music, the dancing, and talking, and drinking. A low murmur of sounds, carried away by a soft autumn breeze brushing across the Westfold and bringing chills down from the Misty Mountains in the north.

The walk in front of them looks deserted. Two riders guard it in the distance, standing next to the watchtower at the other end of the wall, but the two guards on this side discretely stepped away as the heir and the woman on his arm approached. Only Théodred's first captain, Edgar, followed them onto the parapet walk but has now stepped back into the shadow of the watchtower nearby to give them privacy.

Feeling thankful for a moment away from prying eyes after five dances together, Lisswyn and Théodred come to a halt in their walk after a good two yards on the wall. Turning their gazes towards the open lands in front of the old fortress, the couple remains unawares of the lone figure leaning against the thick fortress walls down in the deep near the back entrance to the kitchen, way out of earshot, but within plain sight of the heir and his beloved.

Letting go of Lisswyn's arm, Théodred turns to face the first shieldmaiden, his face solemn but not ungentle. Taking in her face for a moment, his eyes wander from her eyes to her hair, down her cheeks to her lips and back to her eyes. Something close to sadness fills his face when he finally decides to speak: "I wished to make our betrothal public at the feast tonight, but I feel that it is not what you want."

His words hit her completely unprepared and her heart clenches. "What?"

"You haven't even given me permission to court you yet although I asked you more than a week ago." His voice is calm, without reproach.

"I…," Lisswyn starts to answer when she recalls her conversation with Merelis earlier this evening. "I apologize." She looks up to him insecurely. "I thought my permission was not needed."

Her answer is not what Théodred expected. "Well," he hesitates. "Officially it isn't. I only need your father's consent, but I wish to have yours as well."

"You have it," she replies way too quickly, then calmly and firmly adds: "Of course you may court me."

Théodred takes a moment to search her eyes before his right hand comes up to stroke her cheek. "Are you sure?"

"Yes," she nods, smiling at him, feeling confident that this is not just the only way to answer, but the right way, too.

Smiling back at her, the prince leans forward. His eyes trail down to her lips, his hands taking a gentle hold of her arms just above her elbows. She smells his warm musky scent, feels the warmth of his body as his chest brushes against hers like a leave in the wind, his lips but a hairbreadth away from hers, when he suddenly stops in his move, and pulls away slightly, looking down at her shivering.

"You are cold"

"Oh," she breathes. "No… no, I'm fine, it's just a chill."

"Come here." He steps behind her and wraps his strong arms around her shoulders crossing them in front of her chest and taking her upper arms into his sturdy hands. Gently he pulls her against his muscular chest, warming her back with his body and leaning his head forward to rest it against the side of her head.

He can feel her stiffen momentarily and then relax against his body. Inhaling deeply, he takes in the scent from her freshly washed hair and skin. For a long moment they look out into the distance, without saying a word.

"I have longed to hold you like this for months," he whispers with a throaty voice into her ear as the urge to kiss her becomes overpowering. Slowly Théodred starts to turn her around and Lisswyn feels her heart racing at his confession.

Now facing him again she looks up unsure of what to do or say. For a moment they hold each other's gaze, then Théodred leans down and gently brushes his lips against hers.

Lisswyn feels her heart racing, unsure how to react, before she gives in to the thrilling sensation rushing through her body as the prince lovingly presses his mouth on hers, slowly exploring her lips with his.

A warmth spreads in her body when suddenly his tongue glides across her lips, parting them gently and probing her mouth.

After a moment of hesitation, she follows his lead tentatively, feeling his tongue caressing hers, tasting the wine he drunk earlier and smelling his warm scent of pinewood soap and skin balm.

She has only been kissed before once. And the end of it had been awkward, but now she realises, she likes what she feels. If this is what being married to Théodred will be like, she can surely live with it.

There is an army of butterflies in her stomach and her knees start to feel weak. Could this be love? A sudden shiver runs down her spine.

~ S ~

_He fled. He fled from the feast to the deep. From bad to worse._

_He fled the feast so he wouldn't have to watch Théodred and Lisswyn dancing any longer or listening to Erkenbrand commenting on how happy they looked and how fortunate the prince was to have finally found the woman of his heart. He fled to the deep because he knew nobody would be there and the sounds of the feast would not reach him._

_For a short while the loneliness in the deep gave him peace of mind. But then they walked out on to the parapet walk and Éomer could do nothing but watch. Watch, how his cousin talked to her, then leaned down, holding her close, and Éomer's heart nearly stopped beating._

_Yet then Théodred stepped behind Lisswyn and held her for a while and Éomer felt his pulse return. He knew he should avert his eyes, leave and not watch any longer, but somehow he couldn't and so he stayed. And witnessed._

_How Théodred turned Lisswyn around and claimed her mouth with his. And how she returned the kiss._

_At first he wouldn't believe what he saw. He didn't want to believe it, but his eyes weren't playing tricks on him. They kissed. Not only Théodred kissed Lisswyn, but she kissed him back._

_The moment he saw it he felt as if someone stabbed his heart. It took his breath away and drove tears to his eyes. And then, finally, he was able to move, to turn around and flee inside the Hornburg and upstairs into his bed chamber._

That's where he is lying now, on his bed, his eyes closed, reliving the moment over and over again. The moment his cousin leaned forward, the moment their lips touched, illuminated by the moon shining down from a clear autumn night sky. The moment he realised Lisswyn did not pull away but kissed his cousin back. The moment all hope was lost.

Whether Lisswyn will reciprocate Théodred's feelings or not is no longer a question. She has made her decision!

But what if she had chosen to refuse Théodred? Would he have been brave enough to court her and face his cousin's wrath? His anger and disappointment?

It is only for the blink of an eye he doubts, but then his answer is clear. Yes. Yes he would have faced all of this for her love. Yet now that she has made her decision, he will accept it. His heart, however, will stay with her, wherever she will go, for all of time.

For all of time, like the meaning of the endless knot he engraved into the tassel. He will give it to her after all. Just to show her how he feels and then move on…

~ S ~

Still feeling his lips on hers, Lisswyn lets out a sigh.

Théodred left her on the parapet walk a few minutes ago to give her a moment of solitude before she goes to bed. He wanted to go back to the feast with her, but after explaining she'd like a moment alone and then retire he gave her a knowing smile, opening the buckle of his coat, then taking it down and gently draping it around her shoulders.

"Sleep well, my love," he told her before pressing a soft kiss on to her forehead and leaving. In that moment she felt content. She had accepted his wish for courtship, they kissed, and it felt right. She still had no clear understanding of what her future life would look like but she felt content, that she would be able to face it and that she would be happy at his side.

Since then less than a quarter of an hour has passed, and the doubts have come crawling back into her mind with her thoughts returning to Éomer again and again.

She hadn't seen him all day and even at the feast there was not a single moment she could have talked to him privately. Then he left, early, she recognized and never returned. She has no idea where he might be now, probably in his room, but disturbing him there at this nightly hour would be highly inappropriate. Especially since she has officially agreed to the courtship with Théodred. She will have to talk to him tomorrow before they leave for Rivendell.

The scratching sound of boots on the parapet walk behind her draws her attention. Turning her head to see who is approaching she recognizes Aldor, sending her a warm smile as he comes closer.

"Taking your time out?"

Sighing she nods and turns to face the plains again. "Aye."

"Why are you so sad, Lisswyn?"

His calm question surprises her and she spins her head to look at him. "Sad?

"Yes, you look like your horse broke his leg," he states, partly amused.

Silence fills the night air between them.

"Any woman in your position would be beaming with joy and pride, dancing the night away at the feast, yet you look like you are facing a great doom."

"What do you mean?"

"The prince wishing you to become his wife."

"I am … grateful for that."

"Grateful – not happy?"

Another silence spreads between them. Éomer's face comes to Lisswyn's mind and instantly she feels a weight pressing on her chest. Regret settles in her stomach like a bitter pill tainting the sweet moments she had with Théodred earlier that night.

"Let me guess, your heart is already taken by someone else?"

Alarmed, the first shieldmaiden looks up to meet her mentor's gaze.

"I wouldn't be a very good teacher if I was not able to see such things."

"I don't know what you are talking about."

"Don't worry, Lisswyn. I won't tell anybody. Have you and Éomer talked about Théodred's wish to marry you?"

"No. Why should we?"

"You know the answer to this."

Finally, with a small nod she gives in.

"Why have you not talked?"

"I wanted to, but then we were ambushed at the fords and I haven't seen him alone since we arrived here."

"That's unfortunate."

A thought strikes her and Lisswyn feels panic spread in her guts. "Aldor, if you can see it, surely others do as well…"

"Probably."

"What will they think?"

"That depends on how you will answer to Théodred's proposal and how you will act afterwards."

"How I will answer his proposal? I have to say 'yes', don't I? I cannot turn down the king's son. I have already agreed to this courtship."

"It is only a courtship, tomboy. Théodred has courted three women before you and never gave his vows to any of them. A courtship does not have to end in a betrothal and a marriage. It is a time for both sides to find out if they wish to spend the rest of their lives together."

"He told me today he wished to announce our betrothal at the feast."

"Yet he didn't. So it is still only a courtship and you can still reject him."

"Are you… I mean… are you serious?"

"Yes, but it takes a strong woman to do so and a far stronger man to take Théodred's place as your future husband."

"I don't think there is such a man."

"Éomer would be such a man."

A long moment of silence spreads between them as the first shieldmaiden takes in her teacher's direct words. 'Éomer would be such a man.' If only she had talked to him before tonight. She'd know. And she would not have consented to Théodred's request for courtship. She would have told him her heart belongs to another. But if she had done it – if she does this, how will the king's son react?

"Will I still be first shieldmaiden if I turn Théodred down?"

"Remember to trust in yourself, Lisswyn, trust in your heart as much as your own judgement."

"What do you mean?"

"There is more to life than duty."

~ S ~

The long pointed nails make a scratching sound on the small piece of parchment as long white fingers unfold it.

The first rays of morning sun send their light over the horizon, but within the round throne room of Orthanc it is still dark. A sole candle provides the light for the dark eyes of the white wizard to read the message one of his ravens brought him from Edoras this morning.

_My liege lord,_

_Théodred prince will leave Rohan tomorrow in the evening, planning to cross the fords of Isen in the dark of night. The heir will be accompanied by six riders and two shieldmaidens only, one of my leakers at the Hornburg informed me today. If the Valar are with us this time my message will arrive in due time for your lordship to effectuate the plan you have for the heir and his beloved._

_As always – your loyal servant._

_Yavannië 23rd - Gríma_

"Crossing the fords of Isen," Saruman mumbles to himself. "Just like Gandalf did a few hours ago. Interesting."

And then he calls for his Uruk-commander Lurtz.


	14. The death of hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for yet another long wait. Winter is coming - no, I'm not talking about GoT, I'm not even watching it, I was simply sick for quite a few weeks... but I made it.
> 
> I hope you'll enjoy this chapter. Don't hate me or Éomer, please!
> 
> A big thanks to those who favorited, liked, followed and especially reviewed. You make my days.
> 
> An extra big and special thanks to three wonderful people who help me make this story what it is: My wonderful writing buddy and most honest critic Polly, my equally wonderful beta-reader Scribe of the Fancyful, and last but not least my sounding board JJ.
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> The lyrics used in this chapter are by Ray LaMontagne.

* * *

**The death of hope**  
_"_ _I only wish you weren't my friend_ _  
__Then I could hurt you in the end_ _  
__I never claimed to be a saint_ _  
__Ooh, my own was banished long ago_ _  
__It took the death of hope to let you go."_ (Slipknot)

* * *

Inhaling deeply, Lisswyn closes her eyes. The warm smell of hay, straw, equine sweat, and droppings makes her smile. These are the scents of her childhood. The sounds of the horses' occasional snorts, stomping of hoofs, and swishes of horsetails trying to chase away a bugging fly accompany them perfectly. A warming calm spreads in the first shieldmaiden's chest and stomach and she opens her eyes again before she starts to walk down the stables' aisle.

Her night has been short and with little sleep. Her mind kept her awake for a long time, reeling with everything that happened during the harvest feast; Théodred's kiss, his open declaration of love when they parted on the parapet walk, her conversation with Aldor. When she finally fell asleep, nightmares about the orc ambush at the fords and how they left behind Torfrith and Dunsig haunted her dreams. The image of a slain rider, bruised and bloodied from the battle suddenly changed into that of Éomer, beautiful but dead, and Lisswyn woke with a start, her heart pounding with horror.

A look out of her window revealed that it was still early morning, the plains to the east were still dark, but the sky above had changed into the navy blue so typical for the beginning of twilight. Still troubled from her last dream, Lisswyn quickly climbed out of her bed and put on her riding gear. She would find comfort with Daeroch.

Striding down the aisle of the Hornburg's stables in the deep, she notices the other rider only at the last moment. Standing in the far corner of the bay, he gently crawls the horse's forehead and back of his nose.

"Hefric," she calls him, surprise clear in her voice.

His eyes shift to her only briefly before they return to the horse as he acknowledges her with a murmur. "Lisswyn."

"What…" she starts her question but then hesitates. It is obvious that he has come here, seeking for the same thing she is: peace of mind. "That is Torfrith's gelding," she states instead.

"Stormdriva," he confirms.

"What will happen to him now?"

"We will take him back to Edoras with us. He's still young. Surely Master Ordlanc will assign him to a new rider."

"And Dunsig's mare?"

"She stays here at the Hornburg as a spare horse."

A moment of silence passes between the two warriors as their thoughts are with their lost friends. "I've been dreaming about them last night," Lisswyn suddenly confesses her voice barely more than a whisper. "How we abandoned them, how Torfrith looked at me before we rode away…"

"Aye, it haunts me, too," Hefric nods slowly, "and Éomer as well, I am sure."

"Did he say something to you about it?"

"No." The rider lets go of the gelding's head and steps towards her, stroking the horse's side but avoiding looking at her. "You know him, probably best of all of us. He doesn't talk about such things."

"No, you are right."

"I'm sure he blames himself for their deaths." At his last word their eyes meet.

"They died doing their duty. If asked I am convinced both would have chosen that over any other kind of death." Lisswyn knows she will always choose to die defending Théodred or Éomer before any other possible way.

"Yes, that's true. Yet still I keep asking myself how it has come to this. All of this," Hefric's hands come up in an all-encompassing gesture. "The constant threats here in the northwest, our king's indecision to do anything about it…," he trails off.

"He is sick and does not have the best advisors."

Bending down, Hefric ducks underneath the rope that closes off the bay to the aisle, before straightening in front of her again. "Obviously. It's good Éomer is going back to Edoras now. Maybe things will get better then."

"Hopefully. Did you see him?"

"Éomer? This morning?"

A small nod is Lisswyn's only answer.

"No. He's probably preparing for our departure or maybe having breakfast now."

"When are you leaving?"

"An hour past sunrise."

"Then you should go have breakfast as well."

"Aye", he nods and starts to walk towards the stables entrance but stops short after two steps, turning around as he realizes she does not follow. "Will you give me company?"

"I'm not hungry yet and I want to check on Daeroch first. But I will be here to see you off later."

"Alright." Turning back around he leaves her alone.

The stables are built like a four-sided courtyard. Walking to where Daeroch and the princes' stallions are racked up at the far end of the entrance, Lisswyn passes by the tack room. Grabbing an old dried piece of bread resting in a wicker basket and a currycomb from the stables cleaning utensils she starts to hum a tune her mother taught her when she was still a child.

Turning the second corner of the stables' aisle she sees Daeroch's head snap up and turn towards her. Quietly nickering, the stallion greets her and as soon as she has come to his bay starts to nuzzle at her breeches with his warm soft nostrils.

"Good morning, big boy," the woman gently claps her stallion's neck before handing him the bread. She ducks underneath the bay's rope and steps to the horse's side, starting to comb his coat.

_"_ _All the wild horses_  
_All the wild horses_  
 _Tethered with tears in their eyes_  
 _May no man's touch ever tame you_  
 _May no man's reins ever chain you_  
 _And may no man's weight ever lay freight your soul_  
 _And as for the clouds_  
 _Just let them roll_  
 _Roll away_  
 _Roll away_  
 _As for the clouds_  
 _Just let them roll_  
 _Roll away_  
 _Roll away"_

The song – an old traditional tune, famous amongst the horse breeders of Rohan – the touch of Daeroch's coat underneath her hands, the warmth of his sturdy body bring the comfort Lisswyn has longed for since waking up from seeing Éomer's death.

~ S ~

For more than half an hour the first shieldmaiden spends with Daeroch, combing him, singing her song. In the back of her mind she registers how the sun comes up in the east sending her first rays of light into the deep. More and more of the remaining riders of Éomer's éored come into the stables to ready their horses. The Marshal, however, is still missing. With Firefoot placed only two bays away from Daeroch, she could not have missed him. To wait here any longer for a private talk seems fruitless as the stables get more and more crowded. She will have to look for him outside and approach him openly.

Sighing, Lisswyn brushes down Daeroch's neck one last time then claps him on the withers.

"I'll come back for you later, big boy."

The stallion seems to understand, answering her with an affectionate tap of his nose against her shoulder as she ducks under the rope and out of his bay.

They will depart with Théodred's company for Rivendell this evening. It's a three weeks' ride at least out through the wild and with only six riders. Passing the Gap of Rohan without being seen by Saruman's spies will be the most difficult part. They will have to make the distance to the gap in a few hours hoping to pass it at the Fords of Isen in the early morning hours of the coming night while it is still dark.

Deep in thought, Lisswyn walks past Firefoot's bay when a soft grip to her right elbow suddenly stops her. Startled, she looks up to meet Éomer's gaze. He has been waiting for her in the shadows of an empty bay across from his stallion's used to store hay. Quickly, she steps closer to him out of sight of any others in the stables.

"Éomer," she whispers. "I was waiting for you, I-"

He cuts her short by silently taking her hand into his. The look in his eyes is intense, his face unmoving like that of a marble stature. Without a word he presses something into her palm.

Forcing her eyes away from his, the first shieldmaiden looks down to find a soft leather band with a foot long tassel made of chestnut horsetail and a round leather amulet in her hand. _'For good fortune'_ she recognizes her engraving. "You still have my tassel," her eyes dart back up to meet his.

"I found it in my study at Aldburg. I forgot I put it there," Éomer tells her matter-of-factly.

An unsettling thought strikes the woman and it feels as if an iron fist clenches her stomach. "Why are you returning it now?"

Silently Éomer reaches out again and turns the tassel around, placing it back into her open palm. Looking down again, Lisswyn finds an endless knot imprinted on the other side with his name underneath it.

Her eyes dart back up to meet his again. "Éomer? …" she is speechless. The meaning of his engraving is as clear as the bright sunlight outside the stables, but so is her current position since she agreed to Théodred's wish for courtship last night. What can she say now? Should she tell Éomer to give her the time to end the courtship with his older cousin? And is that what he wants?

Without thinking, her right hand comes up to touch the prince's chest plate. "I-"

His cold voice stops her sentence as well as her motion.

"Don't."

She pulls back her hand to her chest immediately as if she burned it in a hot flame.

"Think nothing of it, Lisswyn. It's just a sign of our friendship."

His words cut like a knife. 'Just a sign of our friendship.' Just friendship. That is all he is wishing for. The stabbing pain in her chest leaves her breathless. Her smile falls and the feeling of cold emptiness takes hold of her. Tears well up in her eyes and she has to swallow hard to keep herself from gasping for air. Through a cloud of pain and a tearing feeling in her chest she hears him speak again.

"It is dangerous out there. Keep your guard up and come back safely… all of you."

It is a goodbye. Goodbye to all her hopes, all her dreams. "Thank you, Éomer," she rasps barely able to speak properly. "Will you … bring my family my greetings at Edoras and…" she chokes, but quickly finds her voice again, "and explain to them why I can't come personally?"

"Of course," with a sharp incline of his head he steps past her and out onto the stables' aisle only to find himself face to face with his cousin.

With his jaw set and a stern look on his face, Théodred meets Éomer, sizing him from head to toe. Yet, instead of addressing the Marshal, the prince looks past him to the bay Éomer just stepped out of.

"Lisswyn?" Théodred's voice portrays a gentleness contrasting his hard expression in the greatest possible way. With a last hard look at the younger prince the heir closes the remaining three steps to the bay. "You and Edgar need to discuss protection schedules."

Realizing that his cousin will not confront him in this very moment, Éomer withdraws from the situation with another sharp incline of his head and walks to his stallion's bay.

Carefully, Théodred comes to stand behind the first shieldmaiden. He hears her sniffing and then inhaling deeply before she turns around to face him, her eyes slightly glazed over and blinking away what might be tears, but not directly looking at him. "I will go look for him," she rasps.

With a gentle touch he stops her before she can leave him. "What do you have there?" His voice is cautious and low.

Coming up with her eyes to meet his, Lisswyn slowly opens her palm in front of her to let him see. "A lucky tassel," her voice is breaking, but with a short cough she can steady it. "Éomer gave it to me for our journey to Rivendell so that we all might come back safely."

"That's a nice gesture."

"Yes, it is." She tries to smile, but it is obviously forced. He hears her swallowing hard before walking past him and towards the stables entrance.

"Lisswyn?" he calls, stopping her in her tracks and closing the small gap she has already produced with two long strides. "Does our courtship still stand?" His voice is low, barely more than a murmur, gentle but at the same time doubtful.

He needs to know. He didn't want to ask, but the question was out before Théodred could stop himself. Everything he just witnessed felt like a huge blow to his breastbone.

Granted, neither Lisswyn nor Éomer had clearly crossed a line of what would be deemed appropriate. They had stepped into an empty bay for privacy, yes, but they were only talking, and Éomer simply gave her a tassel, which in itself wasn't anything to worry about. The imprinting, however, had a very distinct meaning and something in the way Lisswyn reacted – she was close to crying – told him there was more to it.

She seems to feel the same way about Éomer that he feels about her. Yet if her heart belongs to the younger prince, why did she consent to courtship last night?

He simply needs to know.

"Of course, it does," Lisswyn's answer is said quickly, in a hushed, fragile voice.

Doubt lingers in the back of the prince's mind and he searches her eyes. They look like a scared fawn's: round, dark brown, but they hold his eyes firmly. She doesn't lie.

"Good." With a simple nod he dismisses her and she continues on her way.

~ S ~

From the corner of his eyes across his stallion's back Éomer sees his older cousin turning back around to face him. Looking up, the two princes lock eyes.

Lisswyn's last words echo in Éomer's head like a bad curse. 'Of course it does.' When he heard Théodred call for her he stopped brushing Firefoot to overhear their conversation.

'Does our courtship still stand?' – it was the crucial question. Her answer hurt more than anything he lived through throughout the last three weeks. More than telling her only minutes before that the tassel he gave her meant nothing but friendship. It was an outright lie, but he didn't have an option. He had to bring their forlorn situation to an end. Still, it hurts like a strike from a glowing fire-fork.

Biting down hard, he continues to brush Firefoot, determined not to show how he feels, but his cousin, his brother by heart, can see it nonetheless.

His eyes speak louder than words and Éomer knows it.

"I thought you gave me your word not to interfere with Lisswyn?" Théodred steps closer now.

Yes, he promised his cousin to not start any advances towards Lisswyn, and he had done everything he could in the given situation without crossing the lines of propriety.

"And I stay true to my word."

"By giving her a tassel?" Incredulity lies in Théodred's voice.

"I gave her the tassel as a parting gift between friends."

"The imprinting speaks of something else." It's a statement just as much as an accusation, and Éomer knows better than to dismiss it.

"I told her that it was a sign of friendship only."

Silently, Théodred glares at him, biting down hard.

Before his cousin can speak, Éomer continues, "she is intent to marry you."

"A lesser man would doubt your words, I choose to trust you. Do not make me regret it." With this unveiled threat, the heir turns on his heels and leaves.

~ S ~

A steady autumn breeze brushes through her hair, pulling small strands free from her braid as she looks out onto the plains. She told Théodred that she would be looking for Edgar but then her feet took her up onto the parapet walk. Protection schedules or not, it doesn't matter to her in this moment.

She needs to be alone. The raw burning pain in her chest is all she can concentrate on. There is no room for planning the journey ahead of them right now. She has to let go first. But by Béma's grace she doesn't want to.

She didn't want to say goodbye to Éomer in the stables. She meant to tell him what she felt for him. Yet he wouldn't listen. He silenced her with those cruel words: just friendship. He told her goodbye.

She has to accept it, her head knows it, but her heart is not ready.

Clutching her tunic in front of her chest with her hand in a desperate attempt to soothe the tearing pain a sob breaks free from her throat. She cannot break down here. Not with guards only thirty steps away. Biting her lower lip she swallows down the tears, feeling the knot forming in her throat. This cruel knot that makes breathing hard, that threatens to suffocate her like an iron fist around her neck.

Inhaling forcefully, she tries to calm herself, when the sound of hooves on the ramp underneath the parapet walk calls for her attention. From above she sees Éomer riding down the ramp. The Marshal is up front, Leofstan to his right, Hefric and Wilrun behind him. She hasn't said goodbye to her friends, like she promised earlier. Regret fills her heart, but only briefly. Then her eyes roam back to the Marshal leading the company. The burning pain in her chest flames up again.

Her eyes fixated on the back of Éomer's head, her vision blurs as tears well up in her eyes again. It is then the prince suddenly turns around, looking up to her as if he sensed her standing there. Quickly blinking, Lisswyn clears her vision to see him, when their eyes meet for a brief moment. She takes in the features of his face, memorizing each detail before he turns around again and faces the plains ahead of him.

"Lady Lisswyn?" Edgar's warm, low voice startles her from behind. "I was sent to discuss the protection schedule for the journey to Rivendell with you."

Closing her eyes and inhaling deeply, she steadies her nerves before turning around. "Call me Lisswyn, please."

"As you wish," the captain inclines his head with an amused smile. "Théodred prince suggested that we pair up for guard duties on our journey. Éofor and Haleth will be responsible for the heir's safety when you are not on guard. Wigbald and Folcred will be your protection then. Do you agree with this?"

"My protection? Why do I need protection?" she snaps. "I'm first shieldmaiden, I can look after myself."

Her temper has no effect on the captain. "It was a clear order by Théodred."

Raising her chin, she clenches her teeth and rushes past him and down the stairs of the parapet walk. Fuelled with a sudden burning anger in her guts, she strides through the deep and towards the stables where she last saw Théodred.

Already from a few yards away she recognizes his tall, muscled stature in front of the smithy, his back turned towards her. He is caught in a conversation with his second captain Baldhelm and Erkenbrand and doesn't see her coming.

"Théodred?" Her voice sounds sharp and official. Startled, he turns around as she continues to speak, striding towards him. "May I have a word with you?"

"Of course." Confused he notices her temper and searches her face for any hint as to what may have caused her anger.

From the corner of her eyes, Lisswyn sees how Erkenbrand and Baldhelm take a few steps to the side to give them privacy.

"Why am I made subject to protection?"

His puzzled look only seems to fuel her anger further.

"I am a shieldmaiden."

"I know this, Lisswyn-"

"I am first shieldmaiden, your personal guard," she cuts him short in a way he hasn't seen her do in the past. "I was trained to have your back."

Forcing himself to remain calm in the face of her unruly outburst, he continues. "That is why I take you with me on this journey to Rivendell. If I had doubts in your abilities as a warrior I would leave you here in the safety of the Hornburg."

"Leave me in the safety of the Hornburg? I am not a damsel in distress."

"And I do not leave you behind, do I?" Aggravated by her unfounded anger he raises an eyebrow, his voice still eerily calm. It has the desired effect.

"Well, then why do you assign two of your men to guard me?" she probes, less heated now.

"Because you have become more than just my shieldmaiden, Lisswyn. Don't you think we can stop pretending it is otherwise?"

Now it is for her to look taken aback. Blinking, she flares her nose and draws in breath.

"You are the woman I wish to marry. Of course, I want to make sure someone has your back in any given situation."

Slowly the hard expression on her face starts to vanish, but her chest is still heaving.

"Having three of my riders guard you doesn't mean I don't trust you as a shieldmaiden. It means that I don't want to risk the chance of losing you."

Waiting for her to grasp the meaning of his words he takes in her stunned expression, her eyes darting about as if she is searching for the answer in her head. He fights down the sudden urge to pull her close and press a kiss onto her lips.

"I'm sorry, I… I didn't think about it this way," she finally murmurs.

"Apparently…" his eyebrow mockingly comes up again as the corners of his mouth twitch.

"I need to find Edgar and apologize."

An amused grin appears on the prince's face as his eyes shift to something behind her back.

Turning around, Lisswyn finds the captain standing only two steps behind her, the correct distance between a guard and his duty. Although he certainly heard every word, Edgar's face doesn't reveal any emotions. There is no hint to what he might think about her outburst or the way the heir talked to her. He is the perfect guard, just like she has been for many years.

"I apologize for my unfounded behaviour," the first shieldmaiden mumbles, turning sideways, directing her words not only to Edgar but Théodred as well.

"You are forgiven, Lisswyn. I know it takes some time adjusting to this new situation."

Nodding, her eyes stare at the ground before her, unfocused. "Your schedule sounds good, Edgar."

"Would you agree to a couple of practice rounds to align ourselves with each other's fighting moves, my lady? Wigbald, Folcred, and Aldor are already waiting on the practice grounds."

Raising her chin, Lisswyn keeps staring straight ahead, only aware of Edgar and Théodred on either of her sides from the corner of her eyes. "Yes, we should go through some standards before leaving."

The soft touch of Théodred's warm hand on her cheek pulls her out of her stupor. Shifting her glance to meet his, dread fills her eyes. Why did Théodred's protectiveness make her so angry? Why is she being so unjust to this man who clearly feels so deeply for her? Will she ever be able to return those feelings? But most of all: What has she given up on when she consented to his wish for courtship? A tearing pain shoots through her body as if she is being ripped in two as the image of Éomer flashes before her eyes causing tears to well up again. "I'm sorry," she whispers, not sure herself what for or to whom she is apologizing in this moment.

The feel of Théodred's lips against her forehead, clearly meant as a gesture of love to soothe her, makes the feeling of falling apart only more excruciating. Flaring her nose she determinedly steps away and strides towards the practice fields. She will not break down in front of everybody.

~ S ~

Block – block – duck – block – strike. For more than three hours Lisswyn, Edgar, Wigbald and Folcred have been practicing their swordplay now under the ever watchful eyes of Aldor. While the men were granted the possibility to take turns and catch their breaths, Lisswyn did not for a moment allow that liberty to herself.

Block – block – strike. Another hit to her side.

The constant physical exhaustion of the practice is finally taking its toll. Her tunic soaked and her hair dripping from sweating, her throat dry from breathing through her mouth, her arms tired and heavy from constantly holding up her shield and swinging her sword, she receives more and more blows to her body. Although the men do not spare her, they make sure their hits to her arms, legs or torso aren't too hard, so that she won't get overly bruised.

From the Hornburg's residential tower the sound of the kitchen bell echoes through the deep. The midday meal is being served in the great hall now. Bowls with food will be placed there for the riders to pick up for the next two hours. With growing displeasure, Lisswyn registers how her stomach reminds her that she hasn't had food on this day yet, but she angrily shoves the feeling aside. No weakness, no giving in.

Advance – strike – retreat – block – block.

"Lisswyn, you have done enough now," Aldor calls from the side of the practice field the four warriors are occupying.

"No," she shouts back, furrowing her brows in annoyance over her old teacher's words.

"You have a long ride ahead of you through the dark of night. You won't be able to make it if you overexert yourself now."

"I will," she growls back.

Advance – turn – block – strike.

"You aren't achieving anything by continuing like this," Aldor starts to argue, but Lisswyn shakes her head, dismissing his words. Instead she jumps forward, blowing a salve of strikes against Folcred who stumbles backwards surprised by her sudden forceful attack.

"It's almost noon, Lisswyn, you need the afternoon to get prepared and rest." Aldor's voice sounds closer now, as if he is approaching.

"Don't you dare," she spins around pointing her practice sword at his sternum. Eyes wide in shock, the captain quickly raises his empty hands in a gesture of surrender. She won't be able to hurt him with the blunt blade, yet the fact she made this move at him is disconcerting enough.

For a brief moment Lisswyn glares at her mentor, then turns around to face Folcred again. With a short nock of her chin she tells him to start his attacks again.

Unsure, the lieutenant looks past her, before giving a short nod and making his move again.

Block – block – shove – block – strike. Another round of crossing swords passes by with Lisswyn conceding another hit to her side.

Strike – advance – block – "Lisswyn!" The deep voice shouting from the field's side stops her immediately.

Clenching his jaw, Théodred comes striding towards her, his whole posture and the deep frown on his forehead speak of his disapproval.

Lowering her weapon and her shield she turns to face him, panting heavily from the hard work-out.

"What are you doing here?" Théodred demands.

"Getting used to my guards' fighting styles," she bites back, her eyes glaring provokingly.

"One, maybe two hours of light practice would have sufficed. What are you trying to prove by …. This?" His upturned hand moves around in a circle encompassing the field and the four other riders.

There is no answer to give that would justify her behaviour, so Lisswyn remains silent.

Taking a deep breath, Théodred tries to calm himself. "Practice is over. Get cleaned and some rest, we will leave in less than seven hours."

Without a word she tosses her shield and sword to the prince's feet and storms away. The three riders she has been fighting against silently toddle off.

Clenching his fists as well as his teeth, Théodred squeezes his eyes shut. Aggravating woman!

"She will come around," Aldor states from behind, trying to bring calm to the tense situation. "If she rests for the remains of the afternoon she will be able to ride through the night."

"Why is she doing this? What is she trying to prove?" Théodred asks quietly, staring at her gear to his feet.

"That she is still herself, I assume," Aldor shrugs, then bends down to pick up Lisswyn's sword and shield.

"I cannot lose her, Aldor."

Slowly nodding, the old captain looks at the prince with his warm brown eyes. Not only has he been Lisswyn's teacher, but the heir's as well years earlier. Feeling for the both of them there is nothing he can say. The nod is answer enough.

~ S ~

Walking down the hill of Meduseld and through Edoras, Éomer notices the mass of people crowding the capital's paths and streets – Éorlingas from all four corners of Rohan, horse breeders, shepherds, peasants, merchants, some even from foreign realms such as Anorien and Ithilien have come to the capitol for this year's horse fair.

Most of them arrived already a few days ago and set up their tents, stands, yurts, and corrals just outside the city's wooden palisade next to the horse enclosures underneath the king's hill. Surely, Lisswyn's family will be among them.

As soon as the Marshal arrived earlier, saw to his horse, and reported to Háma he went on his way to find Cenric and his sons. Striding through the crowded city, he braces himself for the pain that speaking with her father will undoubtedly provoke in him after Lisswyn's and his more than tense parting this morning. He will deliver her greetings and say what he decided to say on his ride from the Hornburg to Edoras and then leave again, not showing his emotional involvement.

As he nears the spot where Lisswyn's family prefer to put up their yurts and travel corrals next to the river underneath Meduseld, he straightens his back once more and pointedly raises his chin. As expected he finds Lisswyn's family at their usual spot and already from five fathoms away calls, "Master Cenric!"

Looking up, the older man's face changes from surprise to delight. "Éomer!" Searchingly his eyes roam around seeking for his daughter in the prince's company.

"Lisswyn bade me tell you that she cannot come this year," Éomer swiftly starts to explain as Cenric's weathered face starts to fall. "Théodred prince has to journey to another realm for important negotiations, he took her with him. I came to deliver her warmest greetings."

"Thank you, son."

"I also wish to apologize."

"Apologize?" Cenric's eyebrows shoot up.

"I happened to overhear a conversation you had with the heir of Rohan while we stayed at your winter camp. I just wished to tell you that Théodred is an honourable man. He really loves Lisswyn and will do everything to see her happy at his side."

With narrowing eyes the seasoned horse breeder takes in the young prince standing before him. "And why exactly do you feel the need to tell me this? Or did he send you?"

"No, I…," sighing, Éomer lets his pretence drop. Whom is he trying to fool?

Patiently waiting for the prince to continue, Cenric gives an emphatic smile.

"I thought you would be reassured, if you knew."

Cenric's smile is slowly replaced by a frown. His eyes seem to pierce into Éomer. Under the man's intense scrutiny, the Marshal feels the tension in his shoulders, the weight on his chest. Everything in his posture is probably giving away how he really feels, yet he doesn't have the energy to put up his façade again.

"You know Lisswyn. She is very stubborn," her father says seemingly out of the blue.

A short bittersweet laugh escapes Éomer's lips, recalling that many times he and the first shieldmaiden got caught up in an argument about something insignificant only because both of them were pigheads with a quick rising temper. "Yes, we used to bicker a lot."

"You are not the only one," Cenric gives him a short warm smile before he continues. "Her heart is just as stubborn."

Pausing, the horse breeder looks at the prince, willing him to understand where he is heading, but sees only puzzlement in Éomer's eyes.

"It will not give up what it is set upon easily. And I am not completely convinced that the heir of Rohan is what her heart wants."

Éomer blinks. Is Cenric trying to tell him that Lisswyn does not love Théodred? She kissed him last night. She consented to the courtship. If she does not love Théodred yet she at least seems to believe she will grow to love him.

Still caught in thought Éomer sees Cenric shake his head and feels a clap on his shoulder.

"Do you wish to stay for supper?"

"No, I… my sister awaits me."

"Come for supper on one of the other nights we are still here, son."

"I will."

Still thinking about Cenric's words, Éomer starts to walk back up the hill to Meduseld.

Suddenly, everything he'd done this morning feels like a huge mistake. Instead of giving her the tassel and telling her they were only friends he should have told her how he felt, how he feels about her, then give her a choice to stay in this courtship with Théodred or allow him to court her instead. But no, he had given Théodred his word. He wouldn't be a man of honour any more if he had done that. Yet, what was worse, losing your honour or losing the women-

Suddenly, something warm, wet, and heavy crashes into Éomer's shins and onto his feet. "Damn it," he shouts, his eyes shooting up and glaring at the young stable boy who has been trying to push a wheel barrow filled with horse dung up a woodplank and onto a cart. Halfway up the plank the boy must have lost his momentum and control over the barrow dropping everything just in front and on top of the Marshall's feet.

"Can't you watch your steps?" Éomer roars before storming towards Meduseld, fuming with anger. He doesn't even stop to acknowledge the guards at the Golden Hall's entrance nor the riders inside it, but instead rushes straight to his room. With a loud bang the door slams shut behind him.

~ S ~

Three white tunics, a second pair of breeches, his royal jerkin and coat, his vanity utensils – a comb, shear, soap, pine wood balm and a horse hair toothbrush – and his eating utensils, all are packed into his saddle bags. Three hours remaining before they will depart for Imladris and there is nothing more for him to do. Erkenbrand, Aldor, and his second captain Baldhelm know how he wants them to handle Rohan's interests while he is away. His riding equipment is cleaned and audited, his weapons checked and sharpened.

Théodred would be ready to set off, if there wasn't this enormous uncertainty in his guts weighing him down. Lisswyn. Everything he had seen and heard from her this day was unsettling to say the least.

He had been beyond happy last night after their conversation on the parapet walk during the harvest feast. Her kiss, soft, sensual, a promising glimpse at what a life with her love in it would be like, made his heart swell. He was elated that night, certain about his future at her side. He had to make an effort not to grin like a fool when he returned to the feast without her. That was last night however. Right now, there is only this terrifying sensation of loss in his chest, causing adrenaline to rush through his veins, exhilarating his heartbeat, not with excitement, but with fear that nothing will turn out the way he hopes for in the end, because she doesn't love him after all.

After their inglorious moment out on the practice fields, he cleaned himself before lunch, then walked to the great hall, hoping to see her there, hoping he would be able to talk to her, find out what was tormenting her, hoping he would get the chance to woo her again with his charm, but she never appeared. After an hour of eating and talking to his riders he decided to go to his room and pack.

The simple task of getting all his possessions he will need for this journey together didn't take long and more than once he found himself staring out of the window of the fortress' residential tower onto the plains of Rohan, feeling actuated by jealousy at his cousin and driven by uncertainty what Lisswyn's behaviour this morning meant and what it would lead to.

With a deep sigh, Théodred rubs his forehead. He is staring out the window again. It doesn't help. He has to be patient and wait to find out what her temper will be like when they set out this evening. Perhaps he will be able to forge the bond between them anew while they are on their way. Until then a mug of hot milk with honey and a sweet roll will calm his nerves.

Putting up a display of confidence and content he leaves his room and makes his way towards the great hall.

~ S ~

A soft knock on his room's door shakes Éomer from his thoughts. Looking out the window on the great plains of Rohan he has been thinking about Lisswyn, pondering on this one question again and again. Did he make the biggest mistake of his life this morning?

"What is troubling you, Éomer?" his sister's voice asks softly.

"Nothing," he replies still facing the window. His legs are put to the ground firmly and in a wide stance. His hands clasped behind his back, his posture speaks of pride and strength, but his shoulders are tense and reveal his inner turmoil – to his sister at least.

"Do not lie to me, Éomer. I know something is troubling you. Tell me."

"Théodred is riding to Rivendell to seek council with Lord Elrond about the threats we face from Isengard and Mordor."

"The situation is that grave?"

"Yes, it is. We will have to prepare for war I am afraid."

"Then it is probably good, Théodred is asking for advice from the elves, since our uncle is growing sicker every day."

"Théodred is travelling with a very small party and he takes Lisswyn along as his protection."

"She is the first shieldmaiden. Of course he takes her on that journey-" before Éowyn can finish her sentence, her brother speaks up again, trying to hold his voice up and steady.

"He is officially courting her."

"I know. Rumours about the courtship reached Edoras almost three weeks ago. Théodred sent me a message before the harvest feast confirming it to me when he bade me choose a dress for her at Edoras' royal seamstress." His sister's voice sounds delighted.

Turning around to face her, Éomer sees her sparkling eyes and a wide smile adorning her face.

"It's wonderful news, isn't it? I am so happy for her…"

Éomer's expression does not resemble her joy. Instead his jawbone hardens as he bites down hard. Seeing his face like this stops the princess in her chatter. "You do not like it?"

Not daring to answer her face to face, he turns towards the window again.

"She will make a great, strong queen," he states, hoping to be done with his sister's immeasurable curiosity for once. Unfortunately, he is not that lucky. Of course, she is perceptive enough to see through is façade easily.

"Éomer?... Look at me."

The Marshall inhales deeply, trying to relax his tensed shoulders before he turns around again. Éowyn knows him better than anyone else. There is no way for him to lie to her.

Her eyes widen with shock as she watches his face speak of sadness and pain, and then realization hits her.

"You love her as well." Quickly, she steps forward to stand in front of him.

The pain her words cause him make him close his eyes, fighting for tears not to well up. "Éowyn, you must not speak of this. To anyone," he confides.

"Of course not. Oh Éomer, I am so sorry for you. I always thought you two would make a wonderful couple. You just match in so many ways. I just never imagined you would look at her that way. What will you do now?"

"Nothing. Théodred is our cousin, our future king. He has my loyalty. If he chooses a certain maiden to be his bride it is not my place to question that. Or rival him for her."

"But you love her," Éowyn nearly cries now with compassion.

"So does Théodred. That is why I will have to overcome my feelings for her."

"Perhaps Lisswyn will not accept his proposal." Éowyn's voice lightens up a little. "Then you could…"

"Éowyn, we both know that she will accept it. I am sure he will announce their betrothal when they come back. She will be our queen one day. It is an honour if he proposes to her."

"But that is not what Lisswyn seeks in a marriage. She does not aim for titles or rank-"

"Éowyn, stop it, please."

"You love her-"

"That is why I will be happy if she is. And if she will be happy with Théodred then there is nothing else I will ask for."

"She is happy with you, Éomer. Every time I see you and her together, she smiles or laughs… she is comfortable with you."

"Éowyn, stop!" the prince shouts, but then turns calm again. "I dare not hope for more and make a fool of myself. I have to overcome those feelings for her."

"But that is so cruel…."

"I will be fine, Éowyn." His voice sounds more determined than he feels. Who is he trying to fool? He will never be fine if watching her with somebody else, with Théodred, is to be his destiny.

"I need some air," he tells her curtly before briskly stepping past her and leaving the room.

His feet take him to one of the more expensive taverns of Edoras, one that is less frequented by riders because it does not have a brothel upstairs and guests are usually left in peace.

~ S ~

"Lisswyn!" With a soft grip to her shoulder, a female hand shakes the first shieldmaiden awake. "Lisswyn!"

Blinking she opens her eyes to a puzzled looking Merelis in front of her. "I've been looking for you all over the place. What are you doing here?"

"What time is it?" Lisswyn asks back instead of answering.

"Afternoon snack is already being served in the great hall."

"By Béma's grace! I have to pack." Jumping to her feet, her wooden bowl and spoon clatter to the floor.

"Did you fall asleep here after lunch?"

Nodding in response, Lisswyn bends down to pick up her utensils.

After she left the practice field earlier, angry at herself, Théodred and the rest of the world, she cleaned herself in the bathtub that had been set up in the back of the kitchen for the women folk at the Hornburg. The tub had already been filled halfway with cold water, so the first shieldmaiden only added three buckets of boiling water and then quickly climbed in. The cool water felt refreshing after the long swordplay. She took her time to soap herself and wash her hair.

While she got dressed again, her stomach told her with a loud growl that food was desperately needed. Yet, Lisswyn didn't dare go to the great hall to eat with the other riders, risking to meet Théodred. Instead she asked for a bowl of midday stew from one of the huge cooking pots that still sat on the kitchen fires for later. Without a questioning look or word the kitchen mistress filled her bowl and Lisswyn went back to the bathtub to sit on a low stool in the corner next to it.

With warm food in her stomach, the physical and emotional exhaustion of this morning finally won control over her. Her body, especially her arms felt leaden, her eyelids heavy. The tearing and burning pain in her chest had numbed to a dull, raw aching. She felt defeated. There was no use in fighting against what seemed to be her fate, better embrace it and move on. Leaning back against the wall behind her stool, she closed her eyes and without being aware of it drifted into sleep.

Only to be woken by Merelis three hours later.

"I need to tell you something," the younger shieldmaiden confesses.

Irritated, Lisswyn sighs. "What is it this time?"

"I accidentally spilled information about your journey to Rivendell."

Shrugging the first shieldmaiden walks over to a bucket of water to clean her bowl and spoon. "It's alright. The riders accompanying us where informed this morning and we will leave in two hours." Cleaning her eating utensils with her fingers, she continues, "Even if Gríma's canary spreads the news it won't reach Edoras before we are on our way and past the Gap."

Looking over at Merelis she finds her friend nervously staring at the floor and nestling with the hem of her tunic. Her voice is but a whisper. "I spilled it yesterday morning."

"What?"

"I accidentally spilled it yesterday morning," the young woman repeats a bit louder now, raising her head to face her commander.

"I heard what you said, but – Merelis! How could you?" Frowning angrily, Lisswyn shakes her head before tying her bowl and spoon to her tunic's belt. "We need to tell Théodred."

Clenching her jaw, the first shieldmaiden starts to make her way to the stairs leading up to the residential tower and Théodred's room, Merelis at her heals.

Could this day become any worse? Of course, she has to apologize to Théodred for her behaviour earlier before they set off towards Rivendell. With tossing her practice gear to the heir's feet she showed outmost disrespect, and in front of others nonetheless. This act has to be addressed, but she would have rather done it without another bad news coming along.

"He's in the great hall," her companion tells her from behind.

Splendid. There will be witnesses to her apology and Merelis' confession. Sighing Lisswyn turns right instead of left and strides down the aisle leading to the public parts of the fortress.

~ S ~

The door closes quietly behind Merelis.

The young shieldmaiden took her scolding – it was more a yelling at, which was unusual for Théodred – and her punishment with dignity, before she left the small room, the prince, the first shieldmaiden and her had been talking in.

When Lisswyn and her companion approached the heir only minutes ago in the great hall, there was no telling whether Théodred was still angry with her or not. His face was open, his eyes warm, he even smiled a little at her as she walked up to him. When Lisswyn asked for permission to speak, he simply asked back, "Here?" and when she admitted that she'd prefer privacy without so much as the blink of an eye he led her and Merelis to a small storage room out of earshot.

His anger came at Merelis' confession, though. Usually Théodred remained composed and calm even when mad. The angrier he was the calmer and icier he became. In this moment, however, he exploded, accusing Merelis of being unfit to serve as shieldmaiden, of lacking the mental strength for the duty and the moral premise to fulfil the requirements that came along with it. In the end he sent her away, telling her that until further notice she was to do stable work at the Hornburg.

A moment of silence passes between Lisswyn and Théodred after Merelis' departure. Their eyes meet, disappointment and regret.

"I wish to apologise for my inacceptable behaviour this morning." Lisswyn holds his gaze, but the expression in his eyes feels like a stab to her heart.

Tilting his head to the side, the prince takes a step towards the woman. "What possessed you?"

"I don't know." She lowers her eyes. She cannot tell him, that her heart was breaking because of Éomer. She cannot tell him that she regretted having consented to this courtship with him. She cannot tell him that his protectiveness, his obvious love for her made her angry beyond reason. All of those feelings have vanished since and are replaced by regret for her actions.

"I would understand, however, if you deem me unfit for shieldmaiden duty after that as well," she concedes.

"If you were still only my shieldmaiden, you would have to face severe punishment for your transgression." His voice is calm, but not cold. Hurt is palpable.

"I know. I am prepared for whatever you deem appropriate."

Sighing, the prince shakes his head. "I cannot punish the woman I court for her feelings, even if I do not like them."

At his words, her eyes come up again and lock with his.

"I simply ask you to not humiliate me like this again."

His words, spoken in a raspy murmur, the gentleness in his face, but most of all the sadness in his eyes filter down to her. The whole day she felt weak and desperate, fighting to win back control over her life and her feelings. In this moment, Théodred shows her that he is even weaker than her. He had laid out his heart before her, hoping but not knowing whether she will reciprocate his feelings one day or not. Hoping but not knowing whether she will be his wife. Hoping but not knowing … just like her when it comes to Éomer's feelings.

And, oh, how painful finding out had been. She will never be able to put Théodred through a torment like this. She will never be able to rip his heart apart like this and just move one. She will not do this to him.

Without thinking she swiftly steps forward until there is only a hairbreadth of space between them, raises to her toes and places a kiss onto his lips.

He didn't expect it, so much is clear by the surprised expression on his face. For a brief moment he stares at her, before bending his head down to hers now that she is back on her feet. Gently he brushes his lips against hers. He doesn't have to wait. She meets his kiss immediately, her hands coming up to wrap around his torso and rest on his shoulder blades.

Deepening the kiss, he pulls her into him, holding her at her midriff and in the nape of her neck.

~ S ~

He is sitting over his fifth pint of ale in less than two hours, staring at the table top in front of him. His head is spinning around one thought and one thought only: Lisswyn. He has to move on. Somehow. He has no idea how, but he has to.

Suddenly, a familiar female voice pulls him out of his stupor. "Éomer?"

With glazed over eyes the prince looks up and to his surprise into the fair face of the Count of Snowborne's daughter. "Olfete?" he asks stupidly.

"Well, yes," she smiles at him.

"What are you…," remembering his manners he clumsily comes to his feet. "Have a seat, please," he gestures at the empty spot on the bench next to him.

"Thank you, my lord." She gives a short curtsy before gracefully lowering herself next to him.

Looking at her with eyes, barely focusing due to his already slightly drunken state, Éomer tries to think of a way to start a polite conversation. To his relieve, Olfete does the task for him.

"My father decided to come to Edoras for the horse fair this year, wishing to buy a yearling. Mother and I decided to come along. I was hoping we would meet, but of course I did not expect it to be this night."

"But why are you alone in this tavern?" His tongue feels heavy.

"Most of the other accommodations in Edoras are already occupied, we have our rooms here, upstairs," she points with her finger to the parlour's ceiling. "I came downstairs to ask for a cruet of wine."

"Let me invite you then," he offers, and swaying slightly walks over to the bar, her sweet chuckle accompanying him on his way.

Maybe company this night isn't the worst of ideas, especially if it is in the person of Olfete. She is a sweet girl after all and a sight to behold, with ample bust, all the rounds in the right places and smooth soft skin. He hasn't quite finished his thought when he feels arousal growing.

Returning to their table with the wine he meets her flirtatious smile with a cheeky grin.

"How lucky I am to have such unexpected yet all the more pleasant company tonight," he coos into her ear and is rewarded with a girlish giggle.

"Or am I keeping you away from other plans?"

"I would always cancel other plans to spend my time with you, Marshal." Blunt, but in this moment, Éomer doesn't mind. Smirking he takes a couple of large gulps from his ale, eager to finish it and move to a cosier and more private place.

"I don't believe it is listening to the worries and hardships of a commander of Rohan you enjoy," he probes with a gleeful sparkle in his eyes.

"I can't say I would be of any help, but of course I wouldn't mind listening." With a sugared smile she tilts her head, showing him the delicate curve of her neck.

He downs his remaining ale, looking at her with sparkling eyes over the rim of his mug. Clicking his tongue, he puts the mug back down after his last gulp. She smiles at him expectantly and he grins back. His hand comes to rest at her backside. Squeezing it lightly, he leans forward.

"I think I know something more entertaining than an arduous conversation about warfare."

"Oh, really?" One of her eyebrows arches teasingly.

Leaning in, he places his lips lightly on hers.

"My lord," she feigns appal, pulling back with a smile and continues with a whisper. "Not in here!"

"We can go upstairs to your room," Éomer offers, but she shakes her head.

"I share it with my parents."

"Oh."

"Why don't you follow me in a minute," she suggests with a seductive smile and rises from her seat. Casting him a telling glance over her shoulder, she walks to the back of the parlour to where the public toilets and a back door to the adjoining stables are and disappears through it.

He finds her two minutes later in one of the empty bays, leaning against the wall, smiling seductively. Not wishing to hold back any longer, he quickly steps in front of her, his hand reaching up to cup her cheeks. Moving forward, pressing her against the wall, his lips crash onto hers, wanting, demanding.

Moaning, she parts her lips and lets him probe her mouth with his tongue. She answers his eagerness. Their tongues dance around each other as if stopping would mean dying. Desperate. Feeling her curves underneath his hands his arousal grows more and more.

Throwing her head back she exposes her neck to him and he starts to nibble on it delightfully as she rakes her fingers through his hair. He wants her.

Trailing down his hands to her backside wanting becomes needing. His mouth is on hers again, their tongues dancing around each other in circles. He grabs her upper leg and pulls it up to rest on his hip, shoving up the hem of her dress, his rough fingers stroking along the soft smooth skin of her thigh.

Growling with passion in the back of his throat, he intensifies the kiss more, pushing his crotch against hers. He needs her, desperately.

With one hand caught in the long tresses of his hair, her other comes down to unlace his breeches. He helps her willingly before unlacing her underpants. Slipping his finger into her as soon as the small piece of garment slips to the side he smiles against her lips as he hears her moan with pleasure. She is wet and warm and more than ready for him.

Quickly pulling back his finger he grabs her second leg and pulls it onto his hip as well, pressing her against the wall with his body.

Fumbling a bit in his drunken state to find her slit with his manhood he feels her lips sucking on his neck. With a forceful push forward he enters her, growling as he feels her embosoming him with her wet and tight warmth.

A soft cry escapes her lips. Pushing himself inside her again and again he feels his orgasm coming quickly. A moan escapes his lips. "Lisswyn!"

"What?" her question is more a shriek than a word.

Startled at her reaction he pulls back and looks at her. "What?"

"What did you just call me?"

Within the blink of an eye Éomer is sober. He called her Lisswyn. A chill rushes down his spine. What is he doing here? Why is he doing it? He does not want Olfete. He wants Lisswyn.

Hurriedly he pulls himself out of her and lets her legs slide back down so that she has to stand on her own feet again. "Nothing."

Hurt and shock are written onto Olfete's face. "You called me something."

"No, I didn't." He swiftly laces his breeches while she is standing in front of him, her underpants hanging around her ankle.

"What were you calling me? Some other woman's name?" Tears are welling up in her eyes.

"No. No, I didn't." He doesn't care that he is outright lying to Olfete. He just wants to get away. "We shouldn't be doing this. You better leave," he tells her.

"You send me away? Like a wench?" Incredulity lies in her voice as the first tears start to fall from her cheeks.

Closing his eyes to keep his calm, he inhales. "Leave, Olfete."

Yet, she does not move. Slowly, she pulls up her underpants and fastens the pants' string around her hips again.

"I said, leave," he hollers now and the young woman dashes past him and out of the bay.

Sobbing, she runs out of the stables' main entrance and onto the backstreet of the tavern, not noticing the young man standing in the shadows of the first bay, following her with his gaze.


	15. Feel invincible

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so sorry for making you wait so long. This winter has been a mess and I totally lost my energy to write. I hope it is back now.
> 
> A big thanks to those, who stuck around, who favorited, liked, followed and especially reviewed. You make my days. I promise I will not leave this story unfinished!
> 
> An extra big and special thanks to three wonderful people who help me make this story what it is: My wonderful writing buddy and most honest critic Polly, my equally wonderful beta-reader Scribe of the Fancyful, and last but not least my sounding board JJ.
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.
> 
> Warning: mention of violence and death in this chapter.

* * *

**Feel invincible**

_"Here we go again  
__I will not give in_  
_I've got a reason to fight_  
_Every day we choose_  
_We might win or lose_  
_This is the dangerous life"_ (Skillet)

* * *

The Valar must be with them on their journey.

Ten minutes ago, the night suddenly turned almost pitch dark when a thick cloud moved in front of the moon, covering it completely. Even the stars seemed to dim in this moment, so as not to shed too much light on the company of eight riders that fast approached the fords of Isen in the Gap of Rohan, or so it seemed.

Lisswyn can still make out the silhouette of Théodred riding at her right side and she knows the other six Éorlingas riding behind, but now she can scarcely distinguish the features of the landscape around them anymore. Details of the ground and foliage are lost to her. Everything is a dark grey blur that flickers in front of her. Only the sounds of small streams rushing over stony ground and pebble beaches tell her that they have reached the fords.

They made it here in less than eight hours, pushing their horses through a hard gallop for most of the time, while the sun still cast her light on the plains of Rohan. Now the horses and riders are tired and thirsty. Once they are in the middle of the fords they will stop to let their horses drink and fill their waterskins. They cannot afford to rest here even if the sky is giving them enough cover to stay undetected. The close proximity to Isengard makes the Gap of Rohan a dangerous place these days. They will continue riding until shortly before sunrise, Théodred told them earlier, and only after covering enough distance into the hostile lands of Dunland will they make rest, staying in hiding throughout the day.

However, they cannot risk to rest unguarded. Two of them will have to stay awake and watch out for potential threats. Lisswyn is not sure whether she will be able to offer taking the first watch this time. Her furious work-out in the morning, the hard ride into the night afterwards along with the ambush here at the fords two days ago have worn her down.

She feels how her body craves for sleep. Staying alert and focused takes a lot of effort right now. Twice she had to stifle a yawn and her eyelids feel heavy. The dandling of her stallion's slow walk threatens to lull her to sleep.

All of a sudden, Théodred pulls his horse into a stop. It's Edgar behind him who utters the prince's concern. "Something here is amiss."

Lisswyn looks over to meet Théodred's gaze. "There are no sounds apart from the water," he whispers.

It's true, the shieldmaiden realizes. The usual sounds of the night, a rustling on the ground or in the bushes of animals fleeing from the approaching horses, the occasional hoots of an owl, the flapping of wings in the trees where birds take their rest, are missing. Instead the night is silent.

"What does it mean?" Lisswyn whispers back, her eyes roaming around trying to look through the impenetrable darkness around them.

Only seconds later, the moon bursts through the cloud, throwing the quiet night into chaos. Hundreds of black beasts dash forward from bushes and trees to either side of the fords. Howling, shouting, roaring with blood thirst, they swing their crude blades and axes.

Daeroch underneath her almost jumps from the shock. The stallion pulls back, his back growing short and tense, ready to flee or break through, whatever her command will be. Behind Lisswyn's back another horse neighs in terror. Arrows start whizzing past their heads. There is more shouting and roaring from behind. There is no way back out.

Lisswyn feels her stomach churning, her heart hammering in her chest, her fingers trembling. Her fatigue is instantly forgotten.

It's a trap, an ambush. There are at least as many orcs as there were two days ago, only this time they are only eight warriors, not forty. Unable to think clearly, she watches how the orcs effectively close in around them. There is no way they can survive this.

The image of Torfrith looking at her flashes before her eyes, Dunsig, down on the ground, slain. This is it. This is their fate.

Lisswyn stares at their attackers as they start to close the only opening left in front of them, when the hollering voice of Théodred reaches her ears.

"Ride!" he shouts next to her, and kicks his horse's flanks to jumpstart Brego into a gallop. Edgar, Éofor and Aldwine are the ones to follow the prince's lead first.

Lisswyn's mind hasn't processed the command yet. Still paralyzed from the sheer number of attackers, she watches them dash forward, heading for the other side of the fords. A hand that isn't hers claps Daeroch's rear and sends the stallion into a gallop. His jolt forward finally rips Lisswyn from her shock. With maximum speed, her stallion follows the other horses across the stony beaches of the fords. Lisswyn feels his powerful strides underneath her and moves into jumping seat to give Daeroch more freedom to race.

It had been Wigbald who forced Daeroch into motion, Lisswyn realises, as she sees the rider catching up with her and closing the distance to her right, giving her protection on her sword arm's side. Only seconds later Folcred appears on her other side, leaving Haleth to cover their backs.

Racing through the shallow streams of the Isen, Lisswyn can make out more and more orcs coming out of the forest and down the vale's slopes from every side. The small gap up front is almost closed now. The prince and his guards draw their swords and spears to fight a way through.

What if they do not succeed? If they are stopped in their flight they will not stand a chance. They will be slain.

Aware of every attacker and every threat in her closer proximity, Lisswyn tries to push Daeroch forward to reach Théodred's side a couple of feet in front of her.

A shattering cry strikes her from behind. Chancing a glance back, Lisswyn chokes her own cry, seeing Haleth falling from his horse, the mare breaking down under the evil slash of an orc's axe, giving a last neigh of terror.

"Faster!" Folcred roars at her side. Digging into Daeroch's side, Lisswyn finally manages to close the distance to Brego in front of her. Suddenly, Edgar comes cutting in with his gelding, effectively forcing her stallion back behind Brego.

Anger starts to bubble up in her stomach. She is Théodred's guard, she needs to be at his side, have his back. Why does Edgar-

With horror, Lisswyn understands: A large orc hovering above them on a cliff to their left, jumps down swinging his axe against the prince. The whole scene is playing before her eyes as if it was magically slowed down. The sharp edge of the blade shines brightly in the moonlight. Snarling in his attack, the orc bares his teeth. Théodred, noticing the threat, turns to his attacker, then leans away from the danger. The shift of his weight forces his horse to swerve to the right.

It is Edgar who takes the orc's blow with his sword, instead of Théodred, but the orc's axe is too fast, too heavy. Sliding off the captain's blade, it cuts right into Edgar's waist.

Up front Aldwine and Éofor have managed to break through the squad of orcs making way for them to reach the relative safety of the other side of the fords.

Roaring in pain, Edgar collapses forward onto his gelding's neck, causing the horse to rush on even faster, following the lead of Aldwine and Éofor's horses. Standing up in his stirrups, Théodred leans over and grabs Edgar's horse's reins, steering it to his side. Lisswyn cannot hear what he says to his captain. The sound of hooves dashing across stone and pebbles is too loud. Kicking Daeroch's flanks she urges for more speed. Yet her stallion is already giving his all.

Behind her, the orcs wail in uproar trying to hunt them down. As one they drive after them. From the corner of her eyes, Lisswyn sees how Folcred cuts away the approaching orcs to her left as they dash past the last of their attackers. Wigbald must be somewhere behind her, keeping the beasts from following after them. Silently she sends a prayer to the Valar that her companion from training years will make it through as well. Focusing on Théodred's back, she rushes after him and the riders making their way into the thick forests of Dunland in front of them.

~ S ~

_She stood on the Hornburg's parapet walk, the wind tugging at her hair. With one of her hands she clutched the tunic in front of her chest, holding his gaze. He wanted to go to her, pull her into his arms, take back the words he said to her just moments ago when he gave her the tassel, but he couldn't. His horse took him away from her, steadily one step after another._

_Up from behind her came a man, clothed in a black cloak, the hood drawn deep into his face, veiling his features. Then another of the cloaked creatures appeared, and another. They were no men, he realised with horror. They were the black riders. One by one they came up onto the parapet walk behind her. They came for her. He tried to call her name, warn her, but he couldn't open his mouth. Fighting hard for his lips to come apart, his voice was caught in his throat. His lips remained sealed._

_Just before the first black rider reached her, Torfrith was there, and Dunsig, and five more of his men who fell at the fords. Holding up their swords, they tried to fight back the servants of Mordor. One of the ringwraiths raised his arm and with a swipe threw a rider off the fortress's outer wall. Arrows whizzed by, but Éomer couldn't tell where they were coming from._

_In the middle of the mayhem Lisswyn stood rooted to the ground, ignoring the dangers around her, holding his gaze. Again he tried to shout her name and warn her, but his mouth remained shut._

_Dunsig was hit by an orc arrow. Mortally wounded, his friend fell to the ground. Unable to hold the black riders back his men fell, one by one. Torfrith was the last to defend the first shieldmaiden, but with a blow of a sword one of the black cloaked ghosts took him down._

_There was nothing left between them and Lisswyn now. The tallest of the black riders stepped forward and with his arm reached for the woman's shoulder. The moment his iron clad palm touched her, Lisswyn turned grey and withered away like ashes in the wind._

_Horrified he stared at the creature, who now looked back at him and with terror Éomer recognized the face: Théodred. His cousin's eyes bore into him._

"Lisswyn!"

Éomer darts up in his bed, gasping for air. Lisswyn!

His heart races. His every beat pounds in his chest and he's covered in sweat.

Forcing himself to breath steadily, he tries to calm his nerves by staring at the wall across from him. Before his eyes he sees her, as he had done in his dream, standing on the parapet walk of the Hornburg. Clutching her tunic in front of her with one hand, she had looked at him as he rode down the pathway from the fortress into the deep. He recalls how he tried to make out the features of her face for one last time before he turned around and focused on the ride back to Edoras.

Was it the last time he ever saw her?

He leans to the side and reaches for his breeches hanging on a stool next to his bed. Grabbing into the pocket he feels for the tassel – it's not there anymore. He gave it to her in the Hornburg stables, telling her that it was a parting gift between friends. So, that part of his dream was true.

Regretting his decision to part with this token of hers and even more so the words he spoke to her, he lies down on his back again. So this is it then? He stares at the ceiling of his room in the Golden Hall.

There is nothing left here to remind him.

Slowly, Éomer closes his eyes.

"Bring her back to Rohan safe and sound," he begs to the Valar. The cold night air causing goosebumps on his arms and chest, he feels the aching in his heart.

~ S ~

The grey sky hangs low over the vast fenland, extending to both sides of the dam that holds the remains of the old North-South road. A fine mist of drizzle lingers in the air, and drops of water drip from reed and long marsh grass twigs. The constant drubbing of the horse's hooves on the hard soil of the road and the birds' occasional chirps are the only sounds that accompany the man's travel for many hours now in these unpopulated lands.

He has been following the old road towards the Northwest for many days, watching the landscape around him change from the fords of Isen and the dark and dense woodlands of Dunland into the open and flat grass plains of Enedwaith. He doesn't know for sure whether he is still on the right track. Yet there was no choice. He hasn't come to a crossroad since leaving the plains of Rohan, where he last talked to other men. So the warrior continues on his lone journey.

The previous night he spent in the shelter of an overhanging rock a dozen yards off the road. The sounds of horses rushing past him on the road in a fierce flight reached his ears in his slumber in the dead of night. Afterwards, Boromir didn't dare go back to sleep. Instead he waited for daylight with the feeling of foreboding in his guts. Despite an unsettling churn in the pit of his stomach he continued on his way, determined to find the house of Elrond.

Just after an hour of riding on this gloomy day, his gut feelings from the night are proved correct. Ahead of him the remains of the road start to crumble away. Lone columns, the remains of walls, and piers of a bridge poke from the swampland into the misty air like monstrous fingers. Blocks of stone lie scattered around. A ghostly labyrinth of what once used to be the city of Tharbad spreads around Boromir as he keeps on riding towards the river in front of him, praying to the Valar that the old bridge may still be intact. Yet the Gods are not with him on this journey. Only ruins are left where the road once crossed the Greyflood on a wide stone bridge.

A defeated sigh escapes him. This place looks an awful lot like Osgiliath, after the recent attack by Mordor's armies, the only difference being the colour of the stone and the state of decay. Osgiliath was built from the same white stone that gave Minas Tirith its famous second name and albeit recently ruined still shone brightly in the sunlight. The stone used in Tharbad was naturally a dull greyish brown, now after centuries in ruins covered with moss and lichen and showing the clear signs of decay.

Letting out a frustrated growl, Boromir dismounts his gelding and leads him up to the banks of the shallow Greyflood. Crouching down he studies the pace and the course of the river in front of him intensely. The Greyflood's wide bed slows its flow. The water passes lazily by the broken arches and scattered boulders which once made for the only bridge for miles.

"Not completely impassable," Boromir mumbles to himself and mounts his horse again. "Let's go, take a swim." With a determined push of his calves to the gelding's flanks, Boromir rides forward and into the cold, dark water.

The duo have almost reached the middle of the wide river when the current unexpectedly paces up. A wild swirl tucks at the horse's legs, pulling the animal into a chute downward, plunging its head underwater. Panicked, the horse pedals forward trying to get his head back above the water again. Boromir quickly glides off his back into the icy, black water and starts to swim at the horse's side. After two more powerful pushes with his legs, the horse finally pops up above the water beside him again, but another swirl pulls both man and horse apart, the reins in Boromir's hands remaining the only connection between them.

The current speeds up and the heavy armour, the shield on his back, and the sword at his side pull him down. Struggling to keep his head above the water, he pulls on the reins, trying to stay connected to his horse, when another chute tucks at his feet and pulls him underneath the cold surface. Gaping in surprise, he swallows a gulp of the cold river water and chokes on it. The need to breathe is overwhelming, but with at least three feet of water above him Boromir supresses it forcefully. Kicking with his legs and arms he tries to make his way back up to the surface, when a sudden tug at the reins in his hand pulls him down again. His horse must be stuck in another wild swirl pulling the warrior along with him.

Panic spreads in Boromir's chest and he quickly lets go of the reins. Using both of his hands and arms now he swims back to the water's surface, forcefully drawing breath the second his face pops up above the water coughing. Only, the river is not done with him yet. Another whirl suddenly pulls him to the side and his face dips underneath the surface once more. Cold water enters his nose and throat. Panicked Boromir stops his breathing. Suddenly his shield pulls him down to the riverbed spiralling. Flailing with his arms, he fights against the surge frantically until the spiralling motion stops at the river bottom. Here, the powerful undercurrent casts him about to the left and right until he cannot tell anymore where up and down is. A sharp pain shoots through his knee, smacking hard against a rock on the river's ground. Another whirl pushes him along the muddy river bottom. Clawing with his fingers at the soil, he pushes himself up gaining enough momentum to swim back up. In a panic-clear moment Boromir decides to start swimming with the current and slightly towards where he suspects the opposite shore to be, gradually drifting towards the surface again.

With two last powerful strokes he comes clear from the whirl and breaks through the surface again. Finally, he manages to stay above the water, panting from the fright and exhaustion. Reaching waters with the former slow and steady current he starts to swim directly towards the other side of the river glancing around the Greyflood's surface in search for his horse. The animal is gone.

After a few minutes of swimming, he finally feels ground underneath his heavy boots again and starts to trudge through the cold water towards the safety of the shore. With laboured breath he drops onto the marshland. Panting, he remains there for a good ten minutes.

Why? Why did he have to go on this accursed journey risking his life in faraway lands instead of fighting at his brother's side where he belongs?

Cursing, Boromir slowly sits up, looking at the Greyflood, seemingly peacefully flowing around the ruins of Tharbad. A long, angry howl breaks from his lips. "Damned be this river. Damned be this blasted prophecy."

With no wood around to build a fire he needs to get going to warm up and get dry again. Cursing once more, Boromir forces himself to his feet and starts to walk northwards back to where the old North-South road silently taunts him.

Three months ago. It all started three months ago.

_It was the day before midsummer. The sun had been out and shining for more than an hour already on this warm and stifling morning, but Boromir felt cold, tired, and exhausted. His night had been haunted by a nightmare that set his heart racing._

_He was still getting dressed for breakfast when his brother Faramir came into his room without knocking._

_"Boromir-" the younger son of Denethor started, but the older cut him off, growling._

_"Thank you for knocking on my door before barging into my room, brother."_

_Facing him, he saw Faramir's distress. "What's wrong?"_

_"I had this dream..."_

_Raising his eyebrows, Boromir waited for him to continue._

_"There was darkness coming from the east, across the Anduin. First it swallowed Osgiliath, then Minas Tirith. There was thunder as if a storm was approaching..."_

_"The nightmare…."_

_"…I felt terror. A pale light remained in the far west and out of it…"_

_"…came a voice?" Boromir finished for him._

_The look of incredulity in Faramir's face is answer enough._

_"A female voice, like an echo crying in your head?"_

_"Yes," Faramir nodded, his eyes wide with worry. "How do you know?"_

_"The voice, was it clear enough to understand?"_

_"Yes, but…"_

_"I had the same dream."_

_"And the voice…?"_

_"Seek for the Sword that was broken," Boromir started to recite what he had heard in his dream._

_"In Imladris it dwells," Faramir joined him and together they finished the prophecy._

_"_ _There shall be counsels taken_  
_Stronger than Morgul-spells._  
_There shall be shown a token_  
_That Doom is near at hand,_  
_For Isildur's Bane shall waken,_  
_And the Halfling forth shall stand."_

_"What is Imladris?" Faramir asked bewildered._

_"I don't know. We should ask father about this dream."_

_Together they left his room in a hurry._

_All their father could tell them was, that Imladris was also known as Rivendell in the language of Westron and that it was in_ _a dale in the far north._

A dale he is desperately trying to find now in this accursed marshland.

Stomping along the crumbling remains of the old North-South road, he notices a crossroad ahead. A distinctly smaller path, but a path nonetheless leads from the North-South road away towards the north and slightly back to the east into higher, dryer lands. 'A dale in the far north', Boromir recalls what little of information he received from his father about Rivendell and decides to follow it.

Still ill at mood he soon starts to brood again over the events that played out the day after this frightening dream.

_They agreed to talk about the prophecy again on one of the next days before Boromir left Minas Tirith for Osgiliath, where he would hold command for the coming week. It was during the early hours of the next day that the attack on Osgiliath started. An army of Mordor stormed the city at the river._

_His company drove back the_ _Orcs_ _and held the last bridge for many hours, until they were eventually outnumbered and had to retreat. Not wishing to leave an easy way into Gondorian territory, they had to destroy the bridge that connected the part of Osgiliath on the eastern shore of the Anduin with that on the western banks, to prevent the Orcs from crossing the river._

_When he returned to his father's halls the next day, exhausted and bruised from battle, defeated by the enemy, Denethor was in ill mood. Even if Boromir himself was to blame for the loss of East-Osgiliath, still his father's wrath was directed at his brother and his brother alone. As he had done for many years now, Boromir defended Faramir, but his father would have none of it._

_"You are useless," he roared at his younger son, and then cursing and swearing he obviously came to his decision._

_"Boromir, you have to go to Rivendell and seek council with lord Elrond." Denethor's face was hard like stone, his voice cut like an icy blade. Turning towards Faramir he snarled. "I wish I could send you instead, but I am sure you would only fail like you always do."_

_Two weeks_ _later Boromir set out from Gondor to find Rivendell._

He would have never thought finding the Elven realm would take that long and be that difficult. Three months hence he set out and still he has no idea if he is anywhere close to Rivendell.

~ S ~

It has been a fierce flight away from the ambush. For many miles the seven Éorlingas galloped through the woods, bushland, and humpbacked barrows of Dunland. The sun has already come up in the east when they finally halt to make rest in a small copse underneath a cliff on the southern slopes of the Misty Mountains.

The moment his horse stops, Edgar slumps off its back and falls to the ground. His hands, one of them still holding his side, are covered with blood. Aldwine rushes to his side immediately.

Dismounting her horse, Lisswyn stares at the corpsman and captain, still caught up by the scenes that unfolded before her eyes in the early hours of morning at the fords.

Edgar – had he not cut in her way, pushing her stallion aside, she would have caught the axe's blow.

Vaguely, she notices how someone takes Daeroch's reins from her hands to lead him away.

"Lisswyn, are you alright? Are you hurt?" Théodred's voice behind her shoulder sounds worried, but she cannot look him in the eye.

"Lisswyn, are you hurt?" he asks more urgently, stepping around to face her. His presence in front of her finally pulls her out of her shock.

"What?" she turns her head to look at him as his question slowly trickles through to her. "No. No, I am sound."

"Good," the prince nods but keeps his eyes on her as if in doubt.

Turning back to look at Aldwine and Edgar again, Lisswyn mumbles. "It was a trap."

"Yes." She can feel the prince's eyes still on her.

"They knew we were coming."

From the corner of her eyes she sees Théodred nodding.

"If it wasn't Merelis… – whoever…" she trails off, looking around her. In the shadow of a couple of pine trees, Wigbald waters the horses at a puddle that hasn't dried up yet after the last rain. Éofor has taken up position further up the slope above the treeline on a rock watching out for potential threats, while Folcred stands guard a few feet away from them, closer to Aldwine, who is still tending to Edgar.

One of the first three must have relayed their plan to cross the fords of Isen last night to Gríma, and Wormtongue must have send the information straight to Saruman…

"They were so many…"

"They were meant to slaughter us," Théodred's voice is devoid of emotion. They both only state the facts, "and I'm afraid that our escape is only temporary. They will come for us, chase us, hunt us until we have reached Hollin. We can't camp here for long, two hours at the most."

Lisswyn pulls her eyes away from the wounded rider and the corpsman to look at Théodred.

"What about Edgar? How long will he need to recover?"

Directing his gaze over to his first captain, Théodred catches Aldwine's look, grim and stern. Briefly, but distinctly the corpsman closes his eyes before he looks at the prince again. There was no shake of the head, but the message is clear.

Lowering his head to look at his feet, Théodred gives his answer to the first shieldmaiden in a murmur. "He will not make it. The wound is too severe."

Lisswyn's eyes widen in shock. "No!" she cries, stepping forward, but Théodred holds her back, grabbing her by the chainmail sleeves of her armour. Feeling anger rising in her guts she turns towards the prince. "We have to take him back to the Hornburg then. We have healers there who can help him."

He shakes his head slowly. "No, Lisswyn," Théodred's voice is soft, regretful. "He would not survive the journey…"

Her head spins around and she looks at Edgar again, eyes wide with incredulity.

"…and I do not dare go back to the fords after this night. We would all be killed."

Although Théodred's reasoning gets through to her, Lisswyn is unwilling to accept the conclusion yet. "We can do nothing?" Her voice starts to break.

"We can make it easier on him as he passes on to the next world."

"No!" Lisswyn protest, stumbling backwards and violently shaking her head. Théodred grabs her elbows, in case she might trip and pulls her towards him. She tries to wiggle out of his hold. "No!" she protests again, twisting her body to where the captain is half sitting and half lying on the ground, his back supported by a rock and two saddle bags. "He was not supposed to take that blow. I should have been at your side. It was meant for me."

"No," Théodred grabs her arms tighter, partly to prevent her from rushing about aimlessly, partly to force her to come back to her senses. "It was meant for me," he emphasises, shaking her slightly. "That orc, it wanted to kill me, not you and not Edgar."

Finally her eyes come back to look at him. "But I should have taken the blow, I am your guard, not Edgar." Tears start to well up.

"Then you would be in his position now." Théodred stares into her eyes, watching how her pupils shrink from wide in shock to narrow as the information settles in, before he continues. "Edgar took the blow, because that is what was expected of him. It is what I ordered him to do."

The first tear rolls from the shieldmaiden's eye and down her cheek. "That is not just."

"No, it is not. But if you had taken it I could not bear it."

Another tear rolls down her cheek. Théodred gently starts to pull her into his strong arms, wishing to soothe her, but her hands fly up immediately, pushing against his breastplate.

Shaking her head she brushes him off. "No." She swallows hard, blinking away the tears.

Her rejection stings, but Théodred lets go of her arms nonetheless. She is not there yet.

Clenching his jaw he watches her walk away to see to her stallion.

~ S ~

"This is a very fine horse, Master Cenric," the old warrior acknowledges without hesitation, marvelling at the young colt's poise and stature.

"He will make a kingly war horse one day, Count Dungar." Holding the yearling at his holster with one hand, Lisswyn's father strokes down the horse's strong neck with the other.

Behind the Count of Snowborn, Olfete is bobbing up and down on her toes. How can choosing a horse take so much time?

Had she known that she would have to wait for almost thirty minutes while her father looked at four yearlings only to be presented with the finest one last, she would have stayed at the tavern. Yet, she chose to come along on the prospect of being rewarded for her patience with some fine silver jewellery.

On her way through Edoras down to the horse enclosures she kept looking around anxiously, searching for the proud figure of Éomer. While one half of her dreaded to see him after their moment of indiscretion at the stables last night and her shame about how he sent her away, the other half wished to see him again desperately. Just the thought of him send her nerves tingling. Unfortunately he was nowhere around.

"Has his training started yet?" she hears her father questioning and lets out a soft sigh.

"Only the basics, my lord, so that we can check and clean his hooves, put on the holster, lead him around on a halter, and check him for injuries if necessary."

From the corner of her eyes, Olfete notices how the horse breeder's younger son stares at her – still. Flaring her nose she pulls her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

Half an hour ago, when she and her father came to the corrals, the older horse breeder ordered the boy to bring forth a couple of yearlings for her father to inspect. He returned with three horses, leading them by their halters, shortly after. It was then he looked at her for the first time and seemed to recoil. Ever since that moment he kept gawking at her.

It is such unruly behaviour.

"So he is basically still raw?"

"Which is normal for a yearling, my lord. If he isn't sold during the fair we will start with his training this winter."

Still bobbing on her toes, Olfete tries to ignore the boy, but finds it impossible.

Certainly, she is of the better looking women folk, and a noble, too. A lot of men gawk at her. Usually, she enjoys the attention, basks in the glory of it. Yet this kid is too obvious about it, and it isn't even the usual ogling. It's more like he is piercing her with his eyes as if she was a creature out of an old Rohirric myth, with two heads, a horse body, eagle's wings and a mountain lion's tail.

Annoyed by his staring, she turns towards him, raising an eyebrow and studies him pointedly.

The moment their eyes meet, he blushes violently and quickly averts his eyes, but only for a short moment, before staring at her again.

He has light blond hair that reaches down to his shoulders, an oval face, and light blue eyes. He seems to be slightly younger than herself, nineteen, maybe twenty. Quite good-looking, she decides, but of course way beneath her station, and absolutely ill-mannered. How can he still stare at her like that?

"How much are you asking for this stallion?" she hears her father ask and turns her attention back to the deal that is about to be made.

"Twenty gold crowns," the horse breeder replies without a flinch.

Surprised, the count sucks in his breath through his teeth and raises an eyebrow. "That is a kingly price."

"White and grey horses are rare, Count Dungar, this one is already losing his black coat and turning grey, and he is of very good bloodline, too. Snowmane is a half-brother."

"The king's stallion?"

"Yes. If this one is trained correctly he will be just as proud and war-ready as the king's horse."

Nodding to the arguments, the Count of Snowborn lets his eyes roam over the yearling's body. "Can you reserve him for me until tomorrow, Master Cenric? I will think about it then."

"Of course, my lord." The older man signals for the younger to take the colt back to the corrals.

Studying the boy's back while he leads away the horse, Olfete tries to remember whether she has seen him before, but no. His face is completely unfamiliar to her. Frowning over his creepy behaviour, she turns around and joins her father on the way back up the hill and towards the fair's market where the silversmiths, tailors, spice merchants, and skinners have their market stalls. It is time for her to be rewarded for her patience.

~ S ~

Snuffling, Lisswyn wipes her nose with the sleeve of her tunic. With her other hand she is still ruffling Daeroch's forehead. Her stallion's presence comforted her for the past couple of minutes while she was silently crying.

Five minutes or twenty, Lisswyn cannot tell exactly. All she does know is she has finally calmed down. From the corner of her eyes she sees Théodred walking up to her.

"Better?"

Silently, she nods before looking around. Aldwine is still sitting by the wounded Edgar, Éofor and Folcred are holding watch and Wigbald is preparing a cold meal for all of them. None of them seem to have paid any attention to her unworthy meltdown.

"I apologise. I shouldn't break down like this."

Silently nodding, Théodred acknowledges her words. "Maybe you could show Edgar your respect by comforting him a little. He doesn't have much longer," he murmurs while Lisswyn lets go of Daeroch's head.

Surprised, she looks at him.

"He was your guard. It would be a sign of appreciation and gratitude."

Silently nodding, she turns to Edgar. His chest rises quickly, sucking in air. His face is pale, his breeches and tunic red and wet, soaked with blood. Suddenly, in the face of his impending death Lisswyn feels undeserving, breaking down like a child just because they were ambushed. He gave his life for her and she cried like a baby…

Carefully, Lisswyn steps closer to the captain and Aldwine, noticing her intention, leaves them alone quickly.

"Edgar," she murmurs.

"My lady," he labours.

"I…," tears well up in her eyes.

"It was an honour serving our future queen," the captain smiles, reaching out with his bloodied hand.

It takes a moment for her to understand what he is asking her to do, but then takes his hand into hers. It feels warm and slippery from the blood but Lisswyn doesn't feel disgusted. Silently, Edgar closes his eyes.

For a second, she fears the worst, but then sees his chest still rising. A warm hand settles on her shoulder.

"The halls of our forefathers await you, Éorlinga. Honour and glory be with you." It is Théodred behind her, speaking the customary words of departure for a dying warrior of Rohan.

"My lord…"

"I'm here, Edgar." Théodred rests his hand on the rider's upper arm. Edgar's eyelids flicker open for a moment. Looking at the prince, he gives a small smile before closing his eyes again.

Silently sitting at his side, Lisswyn feels miserable. He is dying for her, a weak shieldmaiden who snaps out of her senses in the middle of an ambush. What has become of her? Has agreeing to the courtship with Théodred made her this weak? Like some noble lady in distress? She used to be a warrior herself, but is she still? Nausea starts to well up in her stomach and she casts a surreptitious glance over her shoulder at Théodred. Something around her chest tightens and breathing becomes hard. She feels the wish to leave, to escape his presence, to be alone, but fights it for the sake of Edgar.

Edgar's eyes are closed, but he is still breathing. She closes her eyes as well, feeling his warm and slippery hand in hers. She can smell his blood, his cold sweat, the dirt and stench of orc blood on his clothes. It's the scents of battle. She smelled them before numerous times. The first time was in her third year of training.

 _They were on a training patrol in the Westmarch and not supposed to meet any trouble. Yet, on their third night out there on the rolling hills near the border to_ _Old Pûkel Land a band of Dunlendings attacked them._

_Aldor, Edhild and the few fully-trained riders who accompanied their training patrol quickly formed a circle around the novices, filling their line with most of the taller and stronger trainees of the fourth year. Éomer was one of them._

_"Protect the younger ones," Aldor shouted his order as the fight began._

_Lisswyn stood among her classmates, her sword drawn, eyes wide, heart pumping, blood roaring in her ears. She felt the rush of adrenaline in her veins and wanted nothing more than to join the others in fighting. Aldor's orders however were clear. The novices of the third year were to remain in the middle of the circle and not to interfere as long as they had no other choice._

_Obediently, Lisswyn waited in the middle of the group her back to one of her comrades of training. The boy to her right started crying for his mother, the one to her left repeatedly cursed the most offensive insults she ever heard. Despite her own anxiety, Lisswyn watched how the riders stood their ground and fought back the savages. She couldn't help but gawk at Éomer, admiring how he fought back the attackers and held the line to her right. Admiring how he parried a Dunlending's attack with a bludgeon and dodged a blow from a shield before he drove his sword into the attacker's chest. He had barely managed to pull out his blade again when another wildling came at him. Smooth like a mountain lion, the prince blocked the new attack with his shield, pushed back the beast and knocked him down with a clout of his own head before he beheaded him._

_Feeling her fingers tickle with excitement, she had to remind herself a couple of times that she was not allowed to join her friends._

_Then suddenly one of Éomer's classmates right in front of her crashed to his knees under the blow of an axe to his shoulder. The blade cut through his leather armour and wounded his upper arm. Before the savage could kill him, Lisswyn jumped forward and drove her sword into his belly._

_It was in that moment she realised what she had done. She was about to take a life. Shocked, she stopped in her motion and let go of her hilt, staggering backwards, her eyes locking with that of her enemy. A sword swinging from her right and chopping off the Dunelnding's head snapped her out of her stupor._

_"Back to your circle," Éomer shouted, and she followed his order without hesitation._

_A short while later the ambush was over, all of the attackers killed. The group calmed down again, the corpsman seeing to the four novices who were injured during the fight. Fortunately, none of them had any severe wounds._

_Lisswyn dropped down on her sleeping roll, the rush of adrenaline slowly ceasing. Still overwhelmed from her experience, she watched the riders and trainees piling up the corpses of the savages to be burnt, when Éomer crouched down in front of her, handing her back her sword._

_"You saved Frumgar's life."_

_Doubtful she looked at Éomer. He gave her a small smile. "Your first kill?"_

_Feeling unable to speak, Lisswyn nodded._

_"The first one is always the hardest." His hand clapped on her shoulder, squeezing before he went back to help the others with the corpse pile._

_'The first one is always the hardest.' Such an empty sentence. It's probably what every rider heard after his first kill, including Éomer. Did it ever help to hear those words? Lisswyn doubted it.  
_

_Distantly she heard a couple of her comrades talk about the attack. Although they hadn't really taken part in the fighting they bragged about how superior the riders had been compared to the Dunlendings. To her, they acted all high and mighty and invincible. It was the first time ever since she started her training, she doubted her decision to become a shieldmaiden._

A firm yet warm hand on her shoulder rips her out of her memory. Her eyes spring open.

"He has made it, Lisswyn. Thank you for comforting him." Théodred's voice is calm and meant to soothe her, but she cannot let it get through to her. Not now.

Carefully Lisswyn puts Edgar's hand on his now still chest. She hadn't noticed how it went limp in her hand.

For one last time she lets her eyes take in his face, her mind still clinging to her old memories.

If there was one thing she learned in her first nightly battle at the Westmarch it was that she would never feel invincible and that if she wanted to become a shieldmaiden she would have to find a way to overcome her fear every time she entered a battle.

Up until last night she had been able to do so. Now it is time for her to find out how she will be able to do it again in the future.

Briskly, Lisswyn stands up and walks away, ignoring the prince standing at her side.

~ S ~

Cautiously looking around, Éomer makes his way down the hill from Meduseld to the horse enclosures, silently praying he will not cross paths with Olfete.

The risk isn't very great, given that he is taking the path on the backside of the hill leading from the guards' barracks directly down to the royal burial grounds underneath the Golden Hall and along the small stream to the horse enclosures. It is a path usually only riders of Rohan use if they are to fetch their horses from the enclosures to bring them back up to the stables. Still, the Marshall does not wish to take a risk. Olfete is the last person he wishes to see.

He should probably go and apologize to her. After all, it wasn't her fault he called Lisswyn's name while he shot twixt wind and water with her, and the way he reacted wasn't really honourable either. Then again, she came to him of her own free will, and not for the first time. If a woman is as loose as Olfete she cannot expect to be treated like a lady.

So what was there to apologize for in the first place? No, he won't do that!

Furthermore there is no reason why he should act like a coward hiding from her, like he had done all day, spending it up on the Meduseld hill, on the training grounds behind the barracks or in his room in the king's halls.

When the sun started to descend towards the White Mountains to the west of Edoras he decided to at least stay true to the promise he made to Lisswyn's father the day before.

Tonight is as good as any to have supper with the horse breeder and his sons. Even more so, Éomer feels the need to see Cenric again. It is like Lisswyn's father is another link to her, the last actual link there is after he gave away her tassel. Although knowing that seeing her family will also bring back the painful memory of their departure at the Hornburg and the nightmare that stole his sleep last night, he wishes nothing more than to be reminded of her.

Before setting out from Meduseld he stopped by at the pantry and grabbed a bread and a jar of meat jelly.

It's only a short stroll down the hill until Éomer comes to the familiar yurt and corral. The setting sun sends warm orange rays of light down onto the Golden Hall behind him, while the plains underneath it and especially the wide vale of the White Stream between the capitol's hill and the foothills of the White Mountains where the royal burial grounds and the horse enclosures are situated are already in the shadows.

Lisswyn's father looks up shortly before the prince reaches the yurt and a wide grin spreads on his face immediately.

"Éomer," he greets him joyfully.

"There is a dinner-invitation still open? I'd like to take you up on tonight, if you don't mind," the Marshall replies lightly, knowing full well Cenric won't reject.

"Of course, come on in."

The two men give each other a rough hug, before Cenric leads the way to the yurt. Pulling the heavy felt covering the entrance to the side, he steps into the travel yurt first, Éomer following right behind him.

Inside the yurt the warm light of four oil lamps greet the men. Across from the entrance Lisswyn's older brother and uncle are sitting on sheepskins and woollen blankets. The younger man stirs in a bowl resting on a heating stone.

"Bertric has already started preparing our supper."

Looking up the two men greet Éomer, Bertric with a smile and a polite nod, Cenulf with a cheerful welcome.

"What are you having?"

"Buckwheat groats with stewed vegetables."

A grimace threatens to show on Éomer's face, but he can contain himself.

"I brought us fresh bread from Meduseld and meat jelly."

"Are you trying to embarrass us?" Cenric asks with mirth. "Guests shouldn't bring food to their dinner invitation."

"I won't reject a decent meal," Déor's voice comes from behind. The younger son must have stepped into the yurt that moment without Éomer noticing. Although greeting each other politely, the aversion between the two men is palpable.

"I wouldn't say no to bread and meat either," Bertric quickly pipes in, trying to lighten the mood.

Éomer lets out a breath of relief. He would have never thought Lisswyn's older brother would come to his rescue willingly.

~ S ~

It is evening already when the company of now six Éorlingas makes rest again. They have been riding for more than eight hours, making good ground between themselves and the Gap of Rohan, resting only twice for a brief meal around noon and another cooling break for the horses in the afternoon.

In the morning, after storming away from Théodred and Edgar's dead body, Lisswyn took over the watch post from Éofor, so that the men could build a stone grave for Edgar, preventing wild animals from feeding on his corpse. Luckily, the orcs that ambushed them at the fords haven't caught up with them yet. Or maybe they weren't following after all. Lisswyn couldn't tell.

Building the stone grave took Théodred and his men almost an hour and as soon as they had finished, the company was on their way again.

Following the foothills of the Misty Mountains towards the north, silence lay heavy on the group. For a long time nobody spoke a word. Only after a while Lisswyn heard Wigbald and Folcred talk about how the landscape had changed into sparse bushland. Éofor and Aldwine eventually joined the conversation that was now about how deserted this part of Arda was, wondering why nobody lived here. Théodred remained silent, and so did Lisswyn, avoiding looking at the prince as well despite feeling his eyes on her many times.

It is already growing dark, when Théodred calls them to take rest again at a spring in the mountainside. Quickly, Lisswyn dismounts Daeroch and leads him to the water trickling down the slope.

"Talk to me, Lisswyn," the prince's voice behind her startles her. She hoped to be left at peace, but of course, Théodred would try to talk to her.

"I don't know what to say," she rasps, her heart beating rapidly in her chest, knowing that she has to face him, that she has to let him in and share her feelings. Honesty demands it.

"You've been avoiding me ever since Edgar passed away. What is ailing you?"

Taking a deep breath, she turns around. He is standing about three steps away from her, his strong, proud shoulders slightly slumped, his head tilted to the side, his grey-blue orbs looking worried.

"I am a burden to this group, I caused his death," she accuses herself, her voice rising and agitated.

"That is not true, Lisswyn…," he tries to calm her, but this only breaks the straw for her.

"It is!" she hisses, glaring at him.

"It was his duty to protect you."

"But I didn't deserve it."

Shaking his head sighing, he frowns. "Why do you say so?"

"What kind of warrior breaks down, sobbing like a toddler, only because they were ambushed and someone got killed?" she demands with her arms flailing, her voice cracking. "I am weak!"

"No, you are not," Théodred growls back, his eyes flickering with anger. Lisswyn recoils, looking at him with wide eyes. She expected him to continue trying to soothe her. Instead he put her in her place.

For a moment they stare at each other. His eyes start to soften again.

"A lot of riders feel anxiety after they have been attacked multiple times in only few days." He has found back to his calm. "You had to fight for your life at the Anduin, then at the fords and last night again. That is a lot to take for any warrior."

She lets his words sink in for a moment. He has a just point. She has never before been ambushed three times that short in a row. She has never feared her imminent death before like she did last night. Nodding, she lowers her head. Her voice is barely more than a murmur. "It doesn't haunt you or the others…"

"You are the only one in this group who went through all three attacks, and everybody deals with this differently."

Slowly looking up she meets his gaze again

"Besides, there is more bearing you down than this I suspect."

He is talking about Éomer. They both know it.

Remaining silent, he looks at her, his eyes move back and forth between hers, waiting for her to say something. Yet the only things that come to her mind are the same questions again and again: Why is he so understanding? So forgiving?

She knows the answer, it's in his eyes. They speak louder than words.

Silently, Lisswyn shakes her head. She feels a lump building in her throat and a piercing pain in her chest. Blinking away tears she sees the prince tentatively stepping closer. A warmth starts to spread in her body, growing in her chest as if encompassing the pain, buzzing.

Before he has reached her, she closes the distance, and the prince pulls her into a tight embrace.

~ S ~

Throughout the meal, the two younger men remain silent while Éomer and the older horse breeders are absorbed in conversation about how successful the horse fair has been so far and what possible deals are still waiting for them for the last two days.

It's only after three rounds of airag and another hour of talking that Éomer decides to leave, sensing that Cenric as well as Cenulf wish to retire for the night. Bidding farewell to all four men who share the sheepskins and blankets as bedrolls for their stay at the horse fair, the Marshall leaves the yurt.

He has only marched back up the hill a couple of yards, when Cenric's younger son unexpectedly calls after him, "Marshall!"

Turning around, Éomer sees him jogging up to him.

"I…," Déor hesitates. "I wanted to ask if the king has need for riders?"

Puzzled, Éomer looks at Lisswyn's brother.

"I'm not too old to start the training," Déor explains.

"I know."

"I would like to start this year."

"The training has already started at the beginning of Urimë, you missed it by almost eight weeks."

Déor straightens his back and determinedly puffs himself up. "I'm good at riding and probably a lot stronger than most of the kids that usually enter as recruits, I think I will be able to catch up quickly."

Éomer relents, "if you are set on becoming a rider, come to the barracks tomorrow morning and I will introduce you to the teachers."

"There is a problem though."

"Which is?"

"My father will not allow me to stay here, so I figured, maybe you could tell him there is dire need for young men like me, maybe tell him that I got drafted by need?"

Unconsciously, Éomer takes a step back. "I cannot do that. There is no draft. The king hasn't issued one."

Déor closes the gap. "You could say there is."

"No, I cannot."

"Why not?"

"It would be a lie. I cannot lie."

Stunned silent, Déor looks at him, studying him for a long moment, before the boy's eyes seem to pierce him. "I dare say, you know very well how to lie, Marshall." Déor dares him. Although Éomer towers over him by almost one head, he manages to look down his nose at the prince.

Éomer feels his temper rising in his guts. "I beg your pardon?"

A spiteful smirk appears on the younger man's face. "I believe that with women folk you are not as strict. Not always saying the truth aren't you?"

Bewildered Éomer steps back. "If you have accusations to make, speak out clearly," the Marshall orders angrily.

Still smirking, Déor tilts his head before he steps closer as if trying to drive Éomer back. "I believe you know very well what I am talking about."

"No, I don't." Éomer bites down hard his nose flaring with anger.

"Funny, I had this impression you harboured certain feelings for my sister…"

Éomer blinks in surprise over the sudden turn of the conversation. "She is-"

"I can only hope you didn't disgrace her as you did with that young lady you misnamed Lisswyn," Déor finishes, venom in his voice.

Recoiling, Éomer takes another step back, but Déor follows once more, his face now blank like that of a marble statue.

Carefully, Éomer takes him in.

"I can keep a secret, Marshall. But you know how people say: a favour for a favour…"

Éomer feels his stomach churning. He knew it was a mistake to comfort his broken heart with a tryst with Olfete. He knew it the moment he realized he called her Lisswyn. Yet that is hardly something Déor can hold against him. There is nothing to fear.

"You dare threaten me?" he challenges Déor.

Raising his eyebrows, the boy shows his spiteful smirk again. "I am simply giving you an incentive."

Another moment of silence passes between the two, before Éomer distinctly raises his chin. "I don't think I can help you," he spits.

The boy's face falls, but only briefly. Clenching his teeth he then looks at Éomer squarely. "You shouldn't dismiss me so easily, Marshall-"

"On the contrary, this conversation is over." Éomer cuts him short before turning around. He can feel Déor's eyes boring into his back as he continues on his way back to Meduseld and with forced determination ignores it.

How dare this brattish youth, this child, threaten him, the Marshall of Aldburg?

~ S ~

Squinting, the old man studies the ground intensely.

For two days now, he has been following the tracks of the Nine. Yesterday he noticed a tenth set of horse tracks mingled with the others on the old North-South-road. All were heading into the same direction: Tharbad. Briefly wondering who the tenth rider might be, Gandalf rushed after the ring wraiths, desperate to reach the Shire before they did.

Unless his senses are playing tricks on him this tenth set of tracks has disappeared now.

Harrumphing, the wandering wizard turns around and looks back at the Greyflood behind him glistening in the bright light of a rising sun in the east. Crossing the wide, slowly flowing river took little effort from him and Shadowfax. Apparently this tenth soul wasn't as fortunate.

Shrugging, he turns back and urges Shadowfax forward.

A moment later a small smile graces his face: Wet boots coming from the river a little further down left muddy marks on the crumbling road. For only a couple of yards the tracks remain on the road before they follow a small path leading to the north.

"There you are," Gandalf murmurs to himself. "Good, good."

With a jump, Shadowfax continues his race towards Sarn Ford.


	16. All that memory contains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I'm still writing. Yes, this story is going to be finished one day. Until then: I apologize for keeping you waiting all the time.
> 
> Thank you all for still being with me!
> 
> And extra big and special thanks to three wonderful people who help me make this story what it is: My wonderful writing buddy and most honest critic Polly, my equally wonderful beta-reader Scribe of the Fanciful, and last but not least my sounding board JJ.
> 
> NOTE: Éomer is talking about constellation of stars and birth constellations in this chapter. What he explains to Lisswyn about how the stars travel across the sky is what a person living in the northern hemisphere of our earth could watch in the night sky. The constellations however are NOT the same we have, they are from my imagination. Also what Éomer calls the constellations of his birth is NOT what we consider zodiac signs, it's a combination of zodiac and ascendants.
> 
> I do not own the story, the world, the characters or the languages of Tolkien's books. No money has been made with this story, yada yada yada. No copyright infringement intended.

* * *

 

**All that memory contains**

_"All of the good that remains_  
_All that memory contains_  
_All that is still unexplained after he walked away_  
_It's never just one mistake_  
_It's never just one heartbreak_  
_What's done is done,_  
_I don't want to talk about it._ " (Marit Larsen)

* * *

Sniffling, Lisswyn pulls her coat tighter around her shoulders. Not only is her nose runny from the cold, but it also feels like an icicle sitting on her face. It is early in the morning, sometime shortly before sunrise, the coldest hour of the day, the last hour of her watch. Her breath shows in a small white mist. Temperatures must have dropped below freezing during the night. The grass is covered with frosty rime, white cobwebs hanging in between stalks.

While the riders' camp on the western slopes of the Misty Mountains is still deep in shadow, the sky above starts turning pale silvery light blue, announcing a new dawn. Early birds are singing their praise. Mist is clinging to the ground in the small wells of Dunland, that spreads out underneath her watch post.

The previous night, after Théodred had come to talk to her at the mountain spring, holding her for a good while so that she could calm down and win back her composure, they had built up a small camp for the night. The horses as well as the riders needed rest.

Still anxious about another orc attack, they refrained from making a camp fire and only ate little from their food rations before Théodred regrouped them after Haleth and Edgar's deaths, pairing up Folcred and Éofor for first watch, and sending Lisswyn and Wigbald to get some rest in between a genista bush and a boulder. The dark granite of the boulder had soaked up the sun during the day and stored the heat for the first part of the night, spending a pleasant warmth. Lisswyn willingly gave in to her exhaustion lying next to it, falling asleep quickly.

Théodred woke her and Wigbald up in the early hours of the next day to take over third watch so that he and Aldwine could get sleep, too, after having taken the most strenuous watch in the middle of the night.

Without a word, Wigbald took post higher up the slope overlooking the distance especially to the south, leaving the post close to camp to her.

The hours passed by slowly. Apart from small animals rustling around in the underbrush around camp only Éofor's snoring disturbed the nightly silence every once in a while.

Looking out over the scarcely forested, befogged and rime-covered rolling hills to the west of the Misty Mountains in the pale light of the new day, Lisswyn hears soft footsteps approaching from behind.

"I don't believe they have been following us", Wigbald murmurs from a few feet behind her.

Turning around, Lisswyn looks at him questioningly.

"The orcs," Wigbald clarifies in a low voice, stepping closer. "If they had been following us they would be here by now."

Nodding, Lisswyn shifts her gaze to the four sleeping members of their company, absentmindedly wiping her nose with the sleeve of her tunic. She was ordered to wake them up when the first rays of sunlight reach the plains to the west. Twenty minutes from now at the most. Once the sun has come up high enough it will get warmer again, she silently tells herself, shivering slightly underneath her cloak.

"I've been thinking about the ambush at the fords." Wigbald is standing close to her now. She feels the warmth radiating off of his body. How come he is not freezing like her?

"It wasn't coincidental," Wigbald continues. "They knew we were coming."

Sniffling again, Lisswyn lifts her head and looks at him. "Yes."

"How?"

For a moment the shieldmaiden debates with herself whether to lay the information on the line or not. Théodred never said she had to remain quiet about the subject after they found out from Merelis that Wigbald, Folcred and Éofor had heard about their plans to travel to Rivendell.

They had both hoped Gríma's canary was not one of them before they set out the evening before yesterday, yet the events at the fords last night had proven their hopes in vain.

Folcred, Éofor or Wigbald – one of them, if not two or all three, had relayed the information to Gríma.

She could pretend to be unsuspecting, but that would gain her nothing. If she spilled the information however, she might be able to read from Wigbald's reaction whether it was him or not. She doubted it. If he knew he wouldn't bring up the subject. Or would he? And if he wasn't the traitor, then letting him in on the information would hopefully make him one more rider vigilantly watching out for the traitor at least.

If he was Gríma's minion however, he would be alarmed, maybe even start to make mistakes. At the worst he could attack her to save his own skin.

Slowly feeling for the hilt of the knife in her belt to have an advantage in case this happens, Lisswyn shifts her weight to take a firm stand. A fight between them would wake up the others and he would be outnumbered quickly. It is a risk she can take. Still, her heart starts to beat harder.

"Gríma is Saruman's minion and Saruman is not a friend of Rohan anymore."

Wigbald recoils at the information, raising his voice. "What?"

To keep the conversation quiet, Lisswyn stares at him for a moment before she continues in a hushed voice. "Saruman is trying to gain power over Rohan and Gríma must have told him we – Théodred – was coming. He sent a band of orcs big enough to slaughter us all."

Bewildered, Wigbald stares at her, his mouth slightly open as if his reply got caught in his throat. Lisswyn holds his look, trying to read his expression and determine whether he is honestly surprised or only playing a part. She cannot tell.

"How could Gríma know?" he finally asks, his voice lowered to a sharp whisper again.

"One of you sent the word to him," Lisswyn lifts her chin daringly, ignoring the pounding of her heart in her chest.

"One of us?" He sounds truly horrified.

"Only the commanders at Helm's Deep knew about the plan to travel to Rivendell. I told my shieldmaidens the day before we left. They were ordered to remain quiet about it." Lisswyn feels her body tremble with anxiety. Her voice threatens to falter and she has to take a deep calming breath before she can continue. "Unfortunately Merelis couldn't hold her tongue. It was you, Éofor and Folcred who heard her talk about this journey."

It takes another moment for Wigbald to understand the meaning of her words.

"You are accusing one of us of being a spy of Saruman's?" He blurts out, looking at her with fiery eyes before casting a glance to where Éofor and Folcred are sleeping.

"Not of Saruman's, just Gríma's, and Théodred has proof of it, messages from Gríma to his minion."

"It doesn't mean one of us-"

"It could only have been one of those few who regularly garner the day's messages for him. After Merelis' slip we could narrow it down to the three of you."

Wigbald stares at her and Lisswyn has the feeling her heart is about to jump out of her ribcage. Her fingers are tickling with anxiety, her whole body is tense like a bowstring the moment before release.

"How dare you imply I would betray lord and land?" His voice is a sharp hiss and his eyes are like glaring daggers.

Lisswyn narrows her eyes. "I'm not saying you did it voluntarily. Perhaps Gríma's minion didn't know about the link between him and Saruman," she offers, her own voice sharp like a knife, waiting for a reaction, but Wigbald only stares at her. "Or perhaps he did," she adds provokingly. Still nothing.

Although still high on alert and pumped up with adrenaline, she shrugs and averts her look, trying to make Wigbald believe she is dropping her guard. "It's not important. The outcome is the same."

"It is important," he instantly retorts.

Lisswyn's eyes dart back up to meet his.

His jawline is clenched and there is anger in his eyes. "If the traitor knew about this connection it was treason. He needs to be dealt with accordingly."

"It is treason either way."

"Not if Gríma lured the traitor into helping him." His eyes focus on hers, but his voice has lost a little of its edge.

"How would that be possible?"

"I don't know, but what if the traitor did it believing he was doing it for the king, to help Rohan or… I don't know."

Narrowing her eyes at him once more, Lisswyn studies Wigbald's face. Is he trying to make an excuse for treachery? His act of treason? Alarmed, she feels for the hilt of her knife again.

"It would still be betrayal, going behind Théodred's back," she bites.

Wigbald averts his eyes to something behind her, his jaw working as if he is chewing on something.

"Are you the traitor, Wigbald?"

His look snaps back to meet hers and the anger is back to his eyes. Glaring at her, he blurts out.

"No!"

From the corner of her eyes, Lisswyn notices how the four riders on the bedrolls are stirring. Their conversation must have woken them up.

"Of course you of all people would think I am," Wigbald continues to bark at her. "You have always been biased against me."

Not daring to look away from Wigbald, Lisswyn registers only vaguely that at least two of the others are sitting up now.

"Lisswyn, what is going on?" Théodred's sharp voice comes from the side.

Hurriedly, she turns to face him. Théodred rises from his bedroll, vigilantly watching the exchange of words, ready to rush forward and react if necessary. The other three riders are slowly rising from their bedrolls as well, looking confused and slightly alarmed.

To prevent Wigbald from speaking out first and revealing the information to everybody, she answers Théodred quickly: "Nothing, my lord, we just had a little dispute about something in the past."

She can feel Wigbald's eyes on her and slowly turns her head to look at him, feeling her heart in her throat, every beat pounding in her carotid. Silently praying he will understand her reason for lying, she locks eyes with him.

His face is like a mask and his steely grey-blue orbs bore into her for a moment, not giving away anything. His voice is raw when he finally speaks: "I apologize, Lisswyn, I should not have started this argument."

He understands, or at least concedes. Lisswyn supresses the urge to let out a breath of relief. Forcing herself to calm down she acknowledges his words with a small nod of her head. Wigbald answers in a similar way before stepping aside and making his way towards his saddle pack.

The rest of the morning is spent in a tense silence. Chewing on her hard bread, Lisswyn wonders how much the others heard. She cannot tell. As soon as they all have finished their breakfast, Théodred calls for departure.

Quickly, Lisswyn steps to where he is preparing Brego.

"I have to apologize. I didn't speak the truth earlier. Wigbald and I –I told him the reason we were attacked at the fords last night and he got angry because he thought I was accusing him of being Gríma's minion."

Nodding slowly, Théodred turns to face her. "I figured as much. Why exactly did you tell him?"

"He brought it up. He suggested it was a trap and wondered how they knew we were coming. I thought, if he was the traitor he wouldn't bring up the subject but I also wanted to find out if my assumption was true, so I provoked a telling reaction from him."

"Did you get it?"

"Not really," she shakes her head. "He seemed honestly bewildered and outraged but also came up with an explanation about the canary possibly being lured into relaying information. I'm not sure what to make from it. Knowing him, I'd say he isn't the person we are looking for, but I am not certain."

Nodding once more, Théodred shifts his gaze past her and calls, "Wigbald!"

The rider swiftly approaches. "My lord?"

Théodred takes his time studying the young rider in front of him before he speaks. "That conversation between you and Lisswyn – I know what it was about." He knocks his chin in the direction of the other riders and continues, his voice cutting. "One of you is a spy of Gríma's. I wish to know who it was. What do you have to say to this?"

Briefly, Wigbald turns his head to look at Lisswyn before straightening his back. His chin held high, his chest propped out, he stands tall and proud, looking Théodred straight in the eye. "I have always been loyal to you, my lord. I didn't disclose anything about your whereabouts or the plans for this travel, not to Gríma nor to anyone else."

Théodred holds Wigbald's look for a long moment before acknowledging his words with a sharp nod of his head. "I expect you to remain quiet about the things the first shieldmaiden told you."

Obediently, Wigbald lowers his head, submitting to the order and paying his respect before leaving again.

Lisswyn takes in a deep breath at the same time Théodred does and their eyes meet.

If Wigbald was the traitor, his answer to the allegations and his declaration of loyalty just now would have made his betrayal worse, his punishment even harder if he was to be revealed later. They all know it, and Lisswyn doubts her old friend would take measures like that to save his head now.

"Do you believe him?" Théodred murmurs at her side and she looks at him with a frown.

"You were companions during training years. You know him better than I."

"I always experienced him as an honest man. Brazen, rough, even rude at times, but never lying."

Nodding, Théodred considers her answer. "What you did was risky."

Biting her lower lip, Lisswyn nods, ready to receive a reproach. Yet there is only worry in his eyes.

"I was prepared to fight him and any fight between us would have woken you up."

Slowly, he takes her hand, locking eyes with her. "I don't know if giving away this information was a wise move or not. I don't believe Folcred or Éofor heard your exchange and we best leave it that way."

"Aye."

A teasing smile is playing at the corners of his mouth. "Does it hurt you much to call me by my name in this group?" When she doesn't answer right away he continues, "You are not calling me 'my lord' as much as you used to, I noticed that much, but you did it earlier and you seem to avoid saying my name at all costs."

"I…. I just wasn't sure whether-"

"Please!"

Nodding, a small smile creeps onto Lisswyn's face and Théodred gently lifts her hand to place a soft kiss on its back.

~ S ~

"He didn't recognize me this morning." Tears welling up in her eyes, Éowyn sits down on the bench next to Éomer.

Lowering his spoon, he looks at her, still chewing on the oat grains with warm milk he is having for breakfast.

"Our uncle," Éowyn clarifies, as if he hasn't understood whom she is talking about. "He has been absent-minded a lot lately, but he always used to at least recognize me when I brought him his breakfast in the morning. Today, he didn't. He just stared at me and said 'Who are you?'"

Putting his arm around her shoulders and pulling her close, Éomer tries to soothe his sister. "I'm afraid we will have to prepare for the worst," he mumbles. "We have to hope that Théodred returns from Rivendell swiftly, safe and sound."

"Why did he go? Why didn't he send Erkenbrand? The Marshal is his deputy," Éowyn argues more than asks.

Éomer lets out a heavy sigh. He's been asking himself the same question. Not only should his cousin have stayed in Rohan and sent someone in his stead, he should not have taken Lisswyn with him. A journey this far is dangerous. Yes, she is a shieldmaiden, but he can't help himself. He's afraid she might not return and he might never get the chance to make up for that horrible goodbye he spoke to her.

In that moment in the stables he was too hurt to do anything other than push her away, neglecting his feelings for her. In hindsight he should have told her what he truly felt. He should have let her speak, too.

"Éomer?" his sister's voice pulls him out of his thoughts. She must have spoken to him while he was consumed with his memories about Lisswyn.

"Come again?" looking at Éowyn, he tries to pull himself together and focus on their conversation.

"I said if what you told me about Gríma and Saruman is true, we have to do something to break his influence on Théoden." Her voice is firm again, and there is this glint in her eyes, he remembers from childhood days. That glint that always meant she was ready to argue or fight for something she really wanted or believed in.

Just like the afternoon ten years ago when she insisted he'd take her to the training fields with him so she could meet Lisswyn. Or when she insisted she'd become a shieldmaiden and stopped eating to get her way when their uncle wouldn't allow it at first. Three days she stayed in her room, pouting and only drinking water until Théoden conceded.

He admired her for her strength of will. He still does. She is so similar to Lisswyn in this regard. No wonder the two have become close friends.

"Éomer?" his sister draws out his name as if she is speaking with a toddler.

Quickly shaking his head, he focusses his sight that has gone distant with the memories on her face again. "I have no idea what can be done," he mumbles.

"I believe I know how Wormtongue is corresponding with the wizard."

Éomer frowns. "How?"

"Have you never wondered why we have so many crows here at Edoras nowadays? They were never here before Gríma showed up. I didn't realise this either until I saw him talking to these terrible creatures one evening."

Crows? No, he has indeed never thought about the birds. "He is talking to the crows?"

"I believe he used one of them as messenger."

"Sounds plausible."

"We need to get rid of these nasty birds." Éowyn's voice is forceful now.

"How? They are birds, hard to catch-"

"But not to kill!"

Éomer's eyebrows shoot up. Éowyn, gentle and sweet Éowyn, wants to kill birds? "You want to kill them?"

"Yes!"

"How?"

"We use them as moving targets for an archery practice?"

~ S ~

His heavy armour is jangling, clinking, and rustling with each step. His feet are twice the size they used to be. Grumbling, he wipes his sweaty forehead before putting his helmet back on, growling.

Up here in the Misty Mountains it is almost winter already. A cold wind sweeps over the mountain tops, chilling the barren soil and rocky cliffs. Now he is sweating from the exertion climbing up the hill, but later when they will make rest for the night it will be cold. A nice warm fire place in the caves of Erebor, that's where he should be, instead of on this never-ending journey to the west. Why, oh Mahal, did he agree to follow along?

"How much farther is this glorious elven realm, paps?" he grumbles, spitting out the word 'glorious' like foul meat.

There is a low chuckle from the dwarf walking in front of him before he gets his answer. "We are almost there, Gimli-son. We have covered almost three quarters of the journey already. We just have to climb this one last peak and then down the other side and we are almost there."

With a long groan Gimli shows his disapproval. "Almost, almost," he grunts, producing a smirk on Gloín's face.

"Why couldn't we at least go through Moria and visit Balin instead of climbing these ragged mountains?" Gimli complains, raising his voice to overpower the howling gust which seems to have aimed at brushing him off the mountain side.

As suddenly as the wind thrust against his sturdy body it disappears again.

Gloín rolls his eyes. "Because we already took a detour from Erebor around Mirkwood to avoid crossing King Thranduil's realm. I didn't want to take another one. That would have meant even more days of having to listen to your incessant complaining," he replies with clear reproach.

"We could have gone under the mountain here as well. Instead of **over** it."

"Through Goblin Town? No, Gimli-lad, trust me, you don't want to set your foot there."

"I don't think I want to set my foot anywhere anymore tonight. I'm not made for hiking this much, paps."

"Oh, just…," growling the old dwarf bites his tongue before letting out a heavy sigh. This son of his… "The journey I did with Thorin Oakenshield was even longer, my son, and I did not complain one single time." He feels like talking to a toddler again.

"You had a purpose: to reclaim Erebor."

"And we have a purpose this time as well." Spinning around he faces Gimli, staring at him with glaring eyes. To his surprise this son of his seems to shrink at his intimidating stance. "Those riders who visited us last year came from an old enemy. It is our duty to inform those who used to be our allies in older times, and the Lord Elrond has never been anything but helpful even to us dwarves. We need to have his counsel on such weighty matters."

Only after staring at Gimli just a bit longer, for good measure, he turns back around and continues to climb up the High Pass across the Misty Mountains.

"Dwarves don't need any elven counsel," Gimli grumbles behind him, stomping along the path behind him, fighting against yet another gust bringing in the cold for the first snow to fall on the lower mountain slopes soon.

~ S ~

They covered good ground the whole day, putting a long distance between themselves and the border of Rohan. Keeping the high, already snow-covered peaks of the Misty Mountains to their right they rode northwards across undulated wastelands, sparsely vegetated with shrubs, thickets and occasionally stunted trees, but mostly only covered with dry, sunburnt grass and weeds. Only twice they had to cross a smaller mountain stream running down the slope, giving their horses the time to quench their thirst before continuing on.

The sun is already setting over the humpbacked hills in the west, painting everything with a warm orange glow, when Théodred finally calls for them to set up a night camp in a shallow trough beneath a rocky cliff and behind a thick bush with heavy scrub underneath.

Lisswyn takes in her surroundings, trying to memorize the shape of the boulders and the landscape in the distance. She and Wigbald will have to take second watch this night after they had third the previous. She will have to rely on her memory when standing guard in the dark of the night in unfamiliar lands to notice if anything unusual is happening.

"Lisswyn?" Théodred is standing next to her, his water skin and a package wrapped in a white linen cloth in his hands. "May I ask for your company?"

"My company?"

With a smile he knocks his chin at the rocky cliff behind her. "I thought we could take our supper up there."

Turning around she looks at the overhanging cliff sitting on the mountain side like a lookout. To reach it they will have to climb a steep slope – difficult, but not impossible. With a sheepish grin she turns back towards him.

"The last one up there has to pack the other's bedroll and saddle bags come morning!" and without waiting for his reply she starts to sprint up the hillside.

A surprised yelp and then fast steps following her, trying to close the short distance she has managed to produce with her unannounced jump start tells her he is following. Racing up the rocky slope, she grabs for short dry bushes to support her as her feet start to slip on the steep ground, sending lose stones and dry sand wobbling down the hillside.

Hearing another pair of rider's boots skidding on the gravel closely behind her, she tries to quicken her pace even more, tumbling to her knees at a particularly steep recess. The hearty laugh from right behind her following her slip spurs her even further.

Quickly looking over her shoulder, she sees Théodred almost at her side, his feet skidding on the uneven turf and rock surface just like hers. She can't help the laugh breaking free from her lips when he slides down the slope a couple of feet unable to stop with food and water skin in both of his hands.

He looks at her with glistening eyes and quickly starts to jump up the hillside again.

Lisswyn has almost reached the cliff top, when she loses her footing and skids down landing on her behind just the moment Théodred manages to climb past her.

She reaches the top seconds later, only to find him there panting, but with a satisfied smirk, holding out the water skin for her.

Grasping for air, she bends forward resting her hands on her knees for a brief moment. Turning her head towards west, she takes in the setting sun. If not the fun racing Théodred then the view was worth the exhaustion.

Straightening, she looks at him, how he is still holding the water skin out for her with a wide grin plastered on his face.

"Thank you," she breathes.

"I thank you," he replies turning to the cliff's edge and sitting down facing sunset.

"For what?"

"The fun I had racing you up here," he laughs. "And the fact that I don't have to pack my things tomorrow morning." He shows her a sheepish grin.

"I guess I brought this on myself." She smiles back at him sitting down next to him.

Their makeshift picnic is simple: hard bread, goat cheese, horse salami and water. What makes it special is the view.

In front of them lie the vast rolling hills and humpbacked downs of Dunland and beyond an orange sun is painting the clouds in the sky a dark pink and orange colour.

"It's beautiful," Lisswyn whispers at the sight. She feels Théodred looking at her and when she turns to him he smiles at her widely.

"Yes," he breathes.

His hand comes up. Stroking her cheek with his thumb, he leans in, locking eyes with her as if asking for permission first before ghosting her lips with his, like the touch of a feather.

Butterflies are swarming in Lisswyn's stomach. He smells like a warm summer's day, of sun and dust and sweat. The skin on her cheek prickles with his touch.

Tenderly, he brushes his mouth against hers and starts to explore her lips with his, before deepening the kiss, drawing the tip of his tongue across her lips gingerly parting them.

A sensation like an electric bolt runs through her body, a lightning strike, and Lisswyn complies, opening her mouth so that the tips of their tongues meet. She starts to feel dizzy with excitement.

Slowly probing her mouth with his tongue Théodred deepens the kiss further. His other hand rests on her midriff, pulling her towards him. She feels like floating on a warm wave of light, her hands clinging to his lower arms, her tongue swirling around his.

When they break apart, Lisswyn is panting for breath, yet Théodred does not pause. His lips move to her jaw line. Placing kiss next to kiss he trails down her jaw until he reaches her neck and the soft spot just beneath her ear, nibbling her skin. Her whole body reacts to his caresses, tingling, buzzing. She moans involuntarily and feels him smile against her neck. His breath is like a warm summer breeze on her skin.

Tentatively she starts to explore his body with her hands, running them up his arms over his strong biceps to the toned muscles of his chest as their lips meet again.

His hand moves down from her cheek, over her neck to her arm, to finally take her hand, pressing it against his heart. She feels the beat drumming in his chest.

Slowly breaking free from the kiss, he wrenches himself away from her, only holding on to her hands, and takes a deep breath.

Opening her eyes, Lisswyn finds him looking out to where the sun has dipped beneath the horizon. Their surrounding is growing dark swiftly.

Turning back to face her, Théodred mumbles, "It is time for me to start my watch."

Nodding, she looks at him, wishing for her heartbeat to slow down, wondering about the sudden change in his mood. "Did I…"

He tilts his head waiting for her to finish.

"… do something wrong?"

With a small chuckle he shakes his head. "Not you, Lisswyn. If anyone here is close to crossing the lines of propriety, it's me."

She blushes at his words.

"Will you find your way back down?"

"Of course."

Before she can get up from the ground, Théodred raises her hand to his mouth and places a kiss on its back, then pulls her up with him.

As she starts her descent, he calls her once more with a low voice. Turning around, she looks at him. He opens his mouth, but then hesitates, only holding her gaze for a moment as if overthinking his choice of words before finally saying. "Sleep well."

It's only three hours later, he wakes her up for the second watch, gently shaking her by her shoulder while calling her name.

"All quiet so far, but we need to stay vigilant," he tells her and Wigbald before lying down on the bedroll Lisswyn prepared for him.

"Would you like to return to the look-out or rather stay close to the camp?" Wigbald asks her with a hushed voice, avoiding looking at her.

Blushing, Lisswyn is thankful for the darkness and his decency. Of course, the others were aware of her little tryst with Théodred. Even if they didn't watch them they must have witnessed them racing up the slope and probably kept a watchful eye on the mountain, too, so that they would not be taken by surprise by any dangers.

"I'd rather stay down here," she mumbles. Wigbald acknowledges her wish with a nod and starts to walk towards the slope.

Hurriedly, Lisswyn holds him back with a hand to his arm. Surprised, he turns around.

"Thank you for not spilling the information about our morning dispute to Folcred and Éofor." She tells him.

"I am neither spy nor fool, Lisswyn," Wigbald grumbles back.

"I am sorry I accused you," she tries to apologize, "You have to understand that I couldn't trust you before we talked."

"You don't trust me now either. You never did." He sounds sober, from disappointment or embitterment, she cannot tell.

"That is not true!"

"Yes it is," his voice is losing its edge, "and I guess I deserved that after how I treated you during your first year of training, but I have been trying to make up for that ever since. Still you remain biased against me."

It's disappointment. Lisswyn feels heat rising to her cheeks.

"When have I been biased against you?"

"Garfled."

Hearing that one name sends a pang of guilt through her.

Before she can reply, he continues, "You accused me of having dishonoured her."

Closing her eyes, Lisswyn swallows hard. Yes, she accused him back then and in the end had to see he was in the right. "I placed bad judgement on you back then. I'm sorry." She can hear the tremble in her voice. "It was at a time when I… I hadn't the best opinion about men in general-"

"You would have never accused Éomer of doing something like this."

She hesitates. Éomer, Wigbald, Hefric, Torfrith – all of them had been chasers in their recruiting years. Dunsig had been the only exception. While she had been appalled by the idea of them engaging with women, girls, just for physical pleasures and would have accused all of them of dishonouring one of them without a doubt, she had never thought so about Éomer. Why?

She blinks.

He had been a chaser, yes, but he was also chased by the women folk because of his rank. They practically threw themselves at him. Not all of them of course, but not few either, and he took advantage of the situation. It wasn't really that he had to convince any of them.

"Only because I knew that the girls in town willingly engaged with him since he is the king's nephew," she replies, but knows how weak her explanation sounds.

Wigbald knows it as well and retorts angrily, "and the thought that a woman would willingly share a rider's bed is just too outrageous, right?"

"I was wrong, Wigbald. I apologized." Lisswyn pleads.

"Aye, you seem to be making a habit of it," he grumbles again and leaves her to take up his watch on the high cliff above their night camp.

~ S ~

Her fingertips glide over the polished wooden box with diamond-shaped ivory and ebony inlays forming a sun pattern.

Olfete had already admired the box two days ago when her father took her to the market to reward her for her patience while he was looking for a young horse. She was close to choosing it but then opted to get a silver necklace instead, yet the desire to own that box would not leave so she came to the merchant's stand again this morning.

"It's made from olive wood," the merchant explains to her once again with his southern accent of Dol Amroth. "The inlays-"

"I know," Olfete cuts him short. She doesn't wish to engage in a conversation and she has heard everything there is to this box already. She just has to make up her mind about spending so much money on it.

The box is certainly worth the price. The inside is lined with dark red velvet, and divided into three sections, the one in the middle with lined rows of ribs, perfect to hold rings. On the inside of the lid there is a small looking glass, and the whole box can be locked with a small gold key.

"My lady?"

Startled by the murmur from behind so close to her ear, so close that the speaker's breath brushed her neck, Olfete jumps. She was too caught up in admiring the box to notice someone stepping close to her. Turning around, she finds herself facing the young horse breeder from two days ago.

"Yes?" she cautions with a shaky voice, her heart still racing in her chest.

"I'm sorry, if I scared you, my lady," he offers with a soft incline of his head, but she ignores his apology, only staring at him.

After another moment of waiting and realising she won't give any response, Déor speaks again. "You were at my father's corral the day before yesterday."

Oh, yes, obvious! "Is that so?" she quips, swiftly turning around to place the jewel box back onto the merchant's stand before facing the young man again, crossing her arms in front of her chest.

He smirks. "Yes, but it was not our first encounter, I dare say. Although you didn't notice me the first time our paths crossed."

She has never seen him before in her life, she is certain of that. Her patience with the young man starts to fade. Frowning, she drags, "So, how can I help you?"

Déor seems unfazed by her obvious annoyance. "I have an offer to make."

"If you wish to negotiate the horse's price you have to talk to my father," she dismisses him, dropping her arms back to her sides, ready to devote herself to the jewel box once more.

Yet the young man will not have it. "Actually, your father already payed the price and I delivered the stallion to the tavern's stables yesterday. Today I come to make an offer concerning the Marshal of Aldburg and your little…" he trails of for emphasis before adding with mirth "meeting in the tavern's stables the other night."

Instantly, Olfete pales and her eyes grow wide.

"Yes, I witnessed that inglorious moment, but don't worry, my lady. The offer I have to make will only be to your benefit I dare say."

Her heart is in her throat. He is talking about her indecent moment with Éomer. How does he know about it? Had he been in the stables and she hadn't noticed him when she went there, too eager to shake off the sheets without music with the Marshal?

"I don't know what you are talking about," she lies, but her voice does not sound nearly as convincing as she hoped it would. The young man has noticed that, too.

"I may be a commoner and only a horse breeder's son, my lady. But I am not a simpleton." He leans closer, lowering his voice. "I know what you and the Marshal did in the stables, and I know the woman whose name he moaned while …." he pulls up his eyebrows. "… dishonouring you."

Straightening up again he watches her bewildered expression with a devious smirk.

Olfete feels her breath becoming shallow. Her cheeks are burning and she has to swallow hard before she can speak again. "What do you want?"

"Simply a chance for a better life," Déor shrugs. "But not from you, from the Marshal."

She looks at him, not getting what he is out for.

"And why are you coming to me then?"

"You can help me to achieve that," he states, smirking.

Help him? How dare this unruly scoundrel expect her to help him? He can be lucky if she does not rush off to her father to have him punished for sneaking up on her like he did invading her space of privacy. No, he can forget about that. Dismissively she looks down her nose at him. "Why would I do that?"

The smirk on his face widens if that is even possible. "To maintain your honour?"

She stares at him, wide-eyed, unable to find an answer. Is he threatening her? Blackmailing her? Anger bubbling up in her stomach, she flares her nose.

"Why don't you lead me to your father to discuss this more privately and in depth?" Déor offers with fake sympathy in his voice.

Her father? She cannot let this happen. She cannot let her father and the other nobles know about her loose ways with the Marshal and some of the other highly ranked riders. Feeling repulsion for this young man in front of her creeping up in her throat, she straightens her back, ready to show this bastard his place. "No!"

Her refusal takes him by surprise. Squinting, he looks at her as if trying to understand the word, before a devilish smile spreads on his face. Leaning in once more, he whispers against her ear. "I don't think you are in a position to deny my request. Your father will learn about your tryst either way, why not spare him and yourself the embarrassment to learn it from someone else than you?"

His words hit her like a fist in the guts. He is threatening her. More so, he will pull through with it if she does not find a way to prevent it. But there is none. Her father will find out either way. Paling again, she swallows as her mind keeps reeling.

Maybe there is a way to make the shame less unbearable? If she gets to tell the story at least she can make it sound like Éomer talked her into giving up her decency, maybe even have her father believe the Marshal forced her?

Defeated, she nods and gestures for the young man to follow her back to the tavern where her family is residing for the course of the horse fair.

~ S ~

Nocking an arrow, he raises his bow. Carefully aiming with the arrowhead at the first crow sitting on the guards' barrack's roof, he pulls the bowstring back. Breath in, breath out, let go, hit.

Furiously crowing, the flock of large, black birds flies up into the sky while one comes tumbling down the barrack's roof and drops onto the ground with a thumb. Dead.

Éomer lets out a satisfied grunt. One down, ten more to go.

Grabbing behind himself, he pulls another arrow from his quiver, not bothering about collecting the one he just used. He can collect them all later.

Nocking the new arrow, he straightens his back, again raising his bow and aiming for the next one of those nasty creatures.

"Taking out your frustration on birds now?" His friend's voice stops him short.

Turning to face Hefric, Éomer lowers the bow and releases the arrow from the bowstring. Hefric comes walking towards him.

"What makes you think I am frustrated?"

Hefric nocks his chin at him. "That scowl you have been wearing on your face for four days straight now."

Éomer frowns. Is his bad mood really showing that clearly?

"What's troubling you?" Hefric asks.

"Éowyn doesn't like the crows that have made themselves at home here in Edoras. I'm trying to get rid of them."

Turning his head, Hefric looks at the dead bird lying in the dust just three feet from the barrack's wall.

"And what is really bothering you?" He probes, before turning his head in a deliberate move to look at Éomer again.

Releasing a frustrated sigh, the Marshal curls his lips.

"I didn't follow your advice."

Hefric furrows his brow questioningly.

"About Lisswyn. I did not tell her."

Shaking his head, Hefric grunts, but refrains from commenting.

"I… I think I made it even worse."

"How is that?"

"I denied feeling more for her than friendship." Sharing his terrible mistake with his best friend somehow makes it more bearable.

Shaking his head again, his friend places a hand on his shoulder, compassionately squeezing it.

"You are giving her up?"

"I have no other choice if I don't want to fall into disgrace with Théodred."

Pressing his lips together, Hefric nods. "So the crows have to count the cost?"

"No. Éowyn told me yesterday morning that the birds are bothering her. She believes Gríma is communicating with Saruman through them, using them as messengers, conspiring against Rohan."

"Saruman is an enemy?"

"Yes," Éomer puts the information Théodred had shared with him about Saruman and Gríma on the line for his best friend to know as well.

"Well, in that case, let's find out who the better archer is." With a dirty smirk, Hefric walks back to the barrack, returning with his own bow only moments later.

Sharing a short laugh, the old friends nock their arrows together.

"I take the one all the way to the right," Hefric murmurs.

"Second from the left," Éomer replies.

"On count?"

"One."

"Two"

"Three"

Two arrows whiz through the afternoon air on Meduseld hill, hitting their marks. Two dead birds tumble down the barrack's roof.

~ S ~

Something is amiss. The grey wizard can tell already from five furlongs away.

The Old Forest to the north and on his right looms dark against the overcast sky. Mist is drifting up the incline of the Baranduin's channel lying straight ahead and onto the plains to the south of the road. On the river's eastern shore the tall tower houses of Sarn Ford reach into the gloomy air like black fingers raised in warning. The windows in the tower houses are like black eyes peering into the distance. There is no light, no lit fire place, no movement. The old stone fortress is deserted.

Slowing Shadowfax to a trot, Gandalf approaches on high alert. He has followed the tracks of the Nine for days now, leading all the way from the Fords of Isen along the old North-South road, crossing the Greyflood at Tharbad and continuing on the Greenway.

Of course, they came past Sarn Ford on their way to the Shire, but he didn't expect to find the ford deserted. Dunédain rangers should be holding watch here. Aragorn doubled their guard to fourteen already seventeen years ago when he mentioned for the first time his suspicion of the One Ring being found by Bilbo Baggins. Another reinforcement of six was sent to Sarn Ford after Aragorn and he had learned from Gollum that the Dark Lord knew of the Ring's whereabouts in Bag End. Where have the rangers gone to?

"Stop!" a sharp voice commands from behind a tree.

"Don't move!" another voice comes from behind a boulder.

Closing his eyes with a grunt, Gandalf lets the stone in his staff glow. "Don't test a wizard, you old fool," he grumbles, turning his head in the direction of the boulder. "Step forth, Halbarad!"

A surprised looking face appears above the boulder. "Gandalf?" The wizard cracks a small smile before dismounting his horse with an amused glint in his eyes. The two rangers come to meet him, the older stepping forward with poise, the other hesitating and watching the old man in the grey cloak and with a wide-brimmed hat precariously.

"It is good to see you," Halbarad greets Gandalf with a grim face, but before he can speak further, the wizard holds his hand up in a quieting gesture.

"Where are Aragorn and your rangers?"

Halbarad turns to his younger dark-haired companion, and with a knock of his chin prompts him to answer.

"My name is Gairon, lord Gandalf, I was here six days ago when we were driven off," he starts to recount.

"The day started out like today, gloomy, as if a shadow lingered despite the sun's rising. Even the animals were quieter than usual, the birds barely sang, and the deer stayed in hiding in the Old Forest. The plains looked as if every living creature had taken to flight from some unknown disaster.

"Although we could not see anything we knew a great evil was nearing. We sent out scouts to search the area, to no avail. Around noon, the mist dissipated but the foreboding of evil grew even more. By nightfall we anxiously awaited whatever enemy lurked beyond our watch."

The young man nervously licks his lips. Already starting to grow impatient, Gandalf shifts his weight, leaning onto his staff, but retains himself. With a simple nod he urges Gairon to continue.

"It was shortly after nightfall we heard a high feral cry, and then they approached. Like a wave of terror and agony they swept over us," Gairon's voice trembles and he has to swallow a couple of times.

"They were nine, swathed in midnight black cloaks, riding on black horses with iron-shod hooves, and from their presence spread a bone-piercing cold like ripples in a lake. I don't know who or what they were, but I doubt anyone has ever seen a greater evil than those riders."

"The Nine Servants of Sauron," Gandalf murmurs, confirming the frightened man's fears. His fingers are drumming against his staff. "Now, quick, tell me what happened here. I don't have all day."

"We tried to bar the ford and fight them, and for a whole day we held it, but their powers were beyond ours. One by one my companions fell. Then one of the creatures, the tallest one with the longest blade, defeated us all at once with one wipe of his arm. Only four of us survived. We fled northward, hoping to reach Bree to warn our captain Aragorn, but five of those creatures followed us into the wild while the others entered the Shire.

Running for my life, I heard deadly cries piercing the night. Fear threatened to overcome me, but I came upon a small and deep well, halfway hidden behind a rock and a fallen tree. I plunged into it and waited for my end. The whole night and another day I waited, then I went to find Halbarad."

Gandalf's gaze shifts to the old ranger, one of Aragorn's most trusted men.

"Where is your captain?"

"Aragorn left Sarn Ford in the beginning of Lótessë to look for the Halfling by the name of Frodo Baggins. We met while he was on his way to Bree and asked me to wait here for you. He didn't know the ford would be attacked. It was pure luck Gairon here survived and could report to me."

Looking northeast to where the Bree-Hill could be seen rising above the land on clear days, Gandalf nods. "I promised Frodo to meet him at the Prancing Pony but was delayed in my travels. Let us hope Aragorn finds him before our enemy does."

Swiftly, he jumps onto Shadowfax' back and urges him to an immediate gallop heading down the Greenway for Hobbiton and leaving the two rangers behind with unease.

~ S ~

The sun is going down over the plains in the west, but Lisswyn does not notice it. All she is aware of are his lips on her skin, their touch burning her with desire at her jawline, her neck, on that soft spot just beneath her ear. They send shivers down her spine, rippling through her like a warm wave.

His fingers stroke her arms gently like petals in the wind, giving her goose bumps. Her whole body is buzzing with anticipation.

Slowly, he unlaces the front of her tunic wide enough that he can slide the garment down her shoulders. Her breath hitches in her throat when she feels his tongue caressing her décolleté.

His lips wander down from her neck across the bared valley of her breast. Sensation is exploding in her veins, making her dizzy. His fingers are playing with her nipple, pinching it gently. Moaning she arches into him and his mouth finds the nipple, his tongue swirling it playfully, sending a tremble through her body like a lightning strike. Heat, there is so much heat radiating off their bodies. She can feel her cheeks flushed. Her breath goes in rapid pants.

Her fingers run down his perfectly sculpted chest, playing with the curls sprinkling it. She feels her desire growing in between her legs, craving to be touched, stroked, caressed. Trailing her fingers down his stomach she reaches the waistband of his breeches, pulling at the laces to open them.

His hands work their way down, from her breast to her hips and her thighs at the same time. Pulling the hem of her dress up, he lets his fingertips reach underneath it, travelling up her inner thighs. Pleasure rolls over her like a wave short of breaking, growing higher and higher. Squirming she adjusts her hips willing him to touch her where she wants it most.

Slowly, his fingers trail to her core.

It is happening. He will be making love to her tonight.

Excitement flutters in her stomach.

Opening her eyes, she looks at him. His head comes back up from her breast and his chocolate brown eyes connect with hers.

"Éomer," Lisswyn moans-

And wakes with a start.

Éomer!

Still breathing heavily, she feels her heart thumping in her chest and the arousal between her legs. She has been dreaming about making love with Éomer.

Feeling blood rushing to her cheeks, she looks around. It's still pitch dark, she cannot have slept long after she and Wigbald were relieved from their first watch earlier this night. Éofor and Folcred are still standing guard. They seem not to have noticed her dreaming. Wigbald, Théodred, and Aldwine are sound asleep. Rubbing her forehead, Lisswyn tries to make sense of it.

She has been kissing Théodred the evening before. It felt amazing. Her whole body reacted to his kisses and touches. Afterwards she was sure she could enjoy being married to him, sharing the bed with him.

Now, her heart is aching and tears are pricking her eyes.

It's Éomer. It will always be Éomer if she doesn't find a way to get over him.

No matter how loving Théodred is, her dreams, her thoughts, her heart keep coming back to Éomer.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she sends two tears running down her cheeks. Oh how she wishes for him to be here with her now. She could tell him what she wanted to tell him in the Hornburg stables prior to his departure. She wouldn't let him stop her this time. She would shout it at him if need be.

Feeling the raw burning in her heart, she lies back down on her bedroll and looks up into the sky with watery eyes. She has to blink a couple of times to be able to watch the stars.

Are they the same stars she is seeing in the night sky over Rohan, and the Wold?

She cannot tell, she doesn't even recognize a constellation. There were over fifty Éomer had once told her, but she remembers only a few names: the Great Bear, the Evenstar, the Herdsman, the Jumping Puma, the Dragon, the Foal, the Winged Horse – the star sign she was born under.

With a sad smile, she recalls the night Éomer showed them to her.

_They were out on a patrol shortly after she was sworn in as shieldmaiden. The patrol was led by Théodred. Edhild was still first shieldmaiden back then and the crown prince's personal guard. Lisswyn was taken along to learn, get used to the charge she would have to handle in the future should she be the only shieldmaiden guarding the heir or the spare._

_It was late at night and she was still awake but not on watch. Lying on her bedroll she looked up into the sky when Éomer appeared at her side, sitting down next to her bedroll._

_"_ _Looking at the Jumping Puma?" he asked, following her gaze._

_"_ _What?" she was puzzled. She never heard the term before and out in Westemnet, far from any mountains, puma's would not only be a rarity, they'd be an oddity. Talking about a jumping puma sounded like complete nonsense to her._

_"_ _The constellation of stars," he pointed towards the sky above her, "it's called the Jumping Puma."_

_Lisswyn had to laugh. "The stars have names?"_

_"_ _Yes," he smiled at her._

_"_ _Why?"_

_"_ _So that we can distinguish them. They give us orientation in unknown lands, help us roam around in the dark where we are foreign and even determine the time of night."_

_His explanation didn't seem to make any sense. As a child she had noticed that the night skies looked differently throughout the night. The stars that were there in the evening, were in different places or had changed completely in the morning. How could they give orientation like a distinctly shaped cliff, or a well, a boulder or a small stream which never moved?_

_"_ _But they move, don't they?" she asked still puzzled._

_"_ _Yes and no," he admitted, lying down on the grass next to her, before he started to explain. "The stars rise in the east just like the sun, but they do not cross the sky on a straight path."_

_Tilting his head in so that their eyes were as close to each other as possible, he stuck out his arm and pointed up. "They move in an arc. So a star visible low in the east early in the evening will appear to rise and move across the southern sky and set in the west before morning."_

_His hand followed the imaginary line across the sky then shifted to the south. "Stars in the centre of the southern sky will disappear below the western horizon halfway through the night. Other stars will rise in the east all through the night."_

_Again he moved his arm, this time in the opposite direction. "If you look straight to the north you'll find that a couple of stars are always there, they just shift their position slightly. One of the constellations, a group of stars, that's always there is the Great Bear."_

_His hand made a circular movement._

_"_ _Do you see the seven stars there, a bit brighter than the ones around them? Four of them are forming a rectangular or body and then three extending like a bending line or a neck and head."_

_She let her eyes roam the sky where his hand had moved seconds before, drawing invisible lines in her field of vision._

_"_ _Here, and here," he pointed again. "Do you see it?"_

_She focused on the area. Yes, there were seven brighter stars aligned the way he had described it._

_"_ _Yes."_

_"_ _That's the Great Bear."_

_She looked at the stars, memorizing the shape they formed._

_"_ _The bear's head here at the end points to a very special star, we call it Evenstar. Here," he moved his hand again. "It's the brightest star in the sky and the only one that does not move at all. When you can find the Evenstar in the sky, you will always know where north is."_

_"_ _Really?" she was amazed._

_"_ _Yes," he turned to look at her with a smile. "And of course, if you know where north is, you'll always know where south is, too," he winked at her._

_"_ _I just have to turn around halfway."_

_He smiled brightly, and Lisswyn remembered how her grandfather used to look at the sky for a particularly bright star at nights when it was time for them to return from the Wold to their winter camp in autumn. He didn't have a name for it though. He just used to call it his way-home-star, because it looked down from the sky and across his shoulder to where they had to go to get to their winter well on the southern rim of the Wold._

_Now she knew it was called Evenstar._

_She hadn't noticed her father or uncle looking out for the Evenstar, too, but she guessed they did. One day her brothers would look out for it as well._

_Learning so much about the night sky from Éomer, her curiosity was peaked. "So the constellations, they are always the same?"_

_"_ _Again, yes and no," he turned sideways and propped up on his elbow, resting his head on his hand and looking at her. "The stars move across the sky changing their location but they stay in the same pattern. That's why we call them constellations. When moving on its diagonal path across the sky a constellation may turn sideways of even upside-down, but it won't grow larger or smaller. And the stars that form it will never change their position to each other."_

_"_ _Why do the constellations have these strange names?"_

_"_ _They were named a very long time ago by our forefathers. They thought they could see the shapes of animals in them and thus named the constellations after them._

_"_ _Like the Jumping Puma."_

_"_ _Yes, or the Dragon." Shifting to look over his shoulder he pointed towards the eastern sky with his free hand. Turning her head, Lisswyn followed to where he pointed._

_"_ _Over there. That's the Dragon, the star constellation I was born under."_

_Again, his explanation didn't seem to make any sense. Did his mother travel all the way to the east for his birth? "What does that mean?"_

_He sighed. "This is complicated to explain. You know that the year has exactly twelve moon cycles, right?"_

_"_ _Yes."_

_"_ _For each moon cycle there is a specific constellation of stars rising over the horizon in the east the moment the sun sets in the west. That's called your birth constellation. On the day of my birth it was the Dragon."_

_"_ _So, everyone has a star constellation?"_

_"_ _Yes, everyone. Yours is the Winged Horse. It's quite fitting knowing where you were born and who your parents are," he smiled at her, and Lisswyn felt completely overwhelmed by everything he had told her._

_"_ _How do you know all of this?" she beamed._

_"_ _Some of it I had to learn during my training years so that I can become a commander of Rohan one day. A lot I just learned for fun. The stars, they are intriguing, don't you think? They are beautiful and… ethereal."_

_He lay back down next to her and looked up at the sky, his hand touching hers. If by accident or purposely Lisswyn couldn't tell, but she interlaced her fingers with his, marvelling at the sight of the night sky._

_It was in that moment, she remembered a song her grandmother used to sing on many nights in her childhood. Unthinkingly, she started to sing it._

_"Starry, starry night_  
_Paint your palette blue and grey_  
 _Look out on a summer's day_  
 _With eyes that know the darkness in the east_  
 _Shadows on the hills_  
 _Sketch the trees and the daffodils_  
 _Catch the breeze and the winter chills_  
 _In colours on the snowy linen land_  
 _Starry, starry night_  
 _Flaming flowers that brightly blaze_  
 _Swirling clouds in violet haze_  
 _Reflect in mountain lakes of china blue_  
 _Colours changing hue_  
 _Morning fields of amber grain_  
 _Weathered faces lined in pain_  
 _Are soothed beneath the Valar's loving hand"_

_When she had finished, Éomer had turned on his side again, looking at her with watery eyes. "That was beautiful," he whispered and squeezed her hand._

It had become Éomer's favourite song. Many times after that night he asked her to sing it for him. The last time she did was only weeks ago, in Aldburg, on the night of dancing, the night Théodred had openly started courting her without her knowing it yet.

Lisswyn swallows hard and a tear rolls down her cheek to her ear.

Éomer.

He seemed so lost and saddened that night. If there was a way to go back, she would tell him what she feels for him. Back then she was not aware of it yet, but she is now. And there is nothing she wants more than to be with him.

Her eyes start to roam the night sky, looking for the Evenstar. It takes her a few moments to find it, but when she is sure it's the right star she turns her head backwards far enough to look at the sky on the opposite side.

South, that's where Aldburg and Edoras are. That is where Éomer is now.

A sob breaks from her lips and the tears start to stream from her eyes. Pulling her cloak to her face to muffle the sounds of her crying she gives in to the pain in her chest.

 


End file.
